Harmony
by Blaithin-mae
Summary: Castiel had been waiting for his vessel for years, however he hadn’t expected Harry Potter. There was a reason why wizards were not meant to house Angels. Slash. Sequel To Discord.
1. Lazarus Rising

**Harmony**

**Summary**: _Castiel had been waiting for his vessel for years, he hadn't expected Harry Potter however. Or the mess that came with him_.

**Rating: **_M_

**Warning**: _Slash, violence_

* * *

**2005**

Castiel had been waiting for Harry for centuries.

His conception had been painted in blue flame across the heavens, illuminated by strings of burning stars and Castiel had seen God's plans unfolding before him and waited, watching the earth with emotionless patience for the appearance of his vessel.

He hadn't been what Castiel had expected.

Harry was a fragile, broken creature full of human weakness and emotion and Castiel wasn't sure he would be able to bear the strain of being a vessel. He had been all delicate bones and big eyes and his paper skin had appeared translucent under the watery flashes of bar light. Castiel had felt for the first time something like doubt as he watched his would be body.

"He stinks of sin" Zachariah whispered and his human form almost pulsed with feeling, the angel's true spirit causing burns to appear, tracing the bones in his hands angrily. Castiel watched his would-be-vessel intently and turned to his superior with confusion, his angelic body floating on the currents of air that moved around them

"What is- _stink_?"

His superior had made an odd noise, a noise that would have been laughter if Zachariah could laugh and his eyes flashed with smite in his human body. "You will find out soon Castiel, that is, if your Vessel can still smell after all that alcohol."

Castiel hadn't understood him at the time and turned towards Harry thoughtfully, watching as the man leant provocatively across the edge of a pool table, his limbs encased tight in his jeans and the long lean length of his torso exposed beneath the thin material of his shirt.

"Sinful" Zachariah echoed and disappeared, his human body groaning at the unnaturalness of his departure.

Castiel watched Harry as he drank and hunted and tried to destroy himself and wondered why God had chosen him, of all men, to house an angel. There was no devoutness in Harry, no acknowledgment of any power higher than himself; he was not like the other angels' vessels and Castiel wondered enough to feel something like doubt as he watched the delicate, thin limbed sinner before him. He wasn't high on the angel hierarchy and knew not to ask too many questions and it was with detached acceptance he approached Harry for the first time.

Later he would wish he had asked.

Harry's soulful chuckle echoed; scratching at the back his consciousness and his physical body flinched automatically at the sound even as his soul reached out towards the pulsating awareness of the wizard's soul, soothing Harry's frayed emotions and old pain.

Harry's magic burnt like poison through his body, crackling at his fingertips and Castiel reined it back into his vessel, coiling up the power like thread until it rested uneasily wrapped around their entwined spirits. Harry was different from other vessels in many ways and his magical heritage was one of the biggest differences.

There was a reason wizards were not generally be used as vessels; they didn't sleep.

* * *

**Lazarus Rising**

Dean awoke to memories of green.

His first breath was like sandpaper rubbing against the insides of his throat and his senses went into overload at the smell and feel and sight of dark dirt all around him. His muscles ached and groaned in protest when he started to move, but the need to escape, to live was strong.

At least for now.

Dean clawed his way like a wild animal out of the ground, his fingers tangling bloody and raw into the grass around his own grave and the sunlight that slapped at his face was almost enough to make him forget about the dark coffin and the years in hell. For a moment Dean was content to stare upwards and remember what it felt like to just live. He breathed deep and started to walk, blinded by sunlight.

Even the sun dimmed in comparison to the image of a shinning pair of green eyes that was burnt into his consciousness.

--00--

Bobby wasn't moving.

He was just stood there, staring and shuddering, his hands slack on his gun while the world went to hell around them.

"Bobby!" Dean's voice was hoarse over the crackling of exploding light bulbs and he raised his gun, feeling his muscles shake against the cool metal and got ready to shoot at the figure that stepped lightly before them. The ground crunched beneath the demon's feet and he tightening his fingers around the trigger desperate for the devil traps to hold the small form before it reached them. They didn't, but Dean hadn't ever really thought they would.

"I know him" Bobby whispered and his voice, choked up with emotion and certainty was enough to make Dean pause and spin away from the big sunlit emerald eyes that watched him steadily.

The light flashed into white brilliance before fading to shadows and he narrowed his eyes to stare at the thing that had managed to drag him from hell. Lightning crackled in sharp lines across the backdrop of rotting wood and devil traps and a small, pale face was illuminated momentarily before the man disappeared back in ominous gloom.

"Harry, Harry?" Bobby almost stumbled in his haste and Dean only just managed to grab at his arms before the older hunter flew desperately into the small approaching figure. Bobby's mouth exploded hot air against him and Dean shuddered in confusion as the man mouthed the single words over and over like a mantra against his skin.

"That's not who you think it is" he hissed and hated the demon or whatever the hell it was for using a body that meant so much to his friend. Bobby was all coiled muscles and longing beneath his hands and his fingers shook as he held him back, stepping just slightly in front of the man, in the same protective way he always had with Sam before his brother had realised what he was doing.

A light bulb exploded above them and no one moved as glass shattered into glitter, falling into dark hair and across pale skin where it glowed like diamonds and twinkled in the twilight as the demon possessed man paused before them in the spill of light.

The man was small and skinny, his wrists tiny circles of thin bone and spider-webbing veins and his throat fluttered with his heartbeat in a way that was so human that Dean's hand hesitated around his gun. His face was delicately built, all chiselled finery and marble smoothness and his skin was encrusted with shards of diamond sparkling glass and the golden glow of power.

Bobby had gone still and he seemed to fold up into his grief as he examined the youth, realisation cold and horrible etched into his features as he stumbled backwards, flinched as the demon stepped forward, focused on the Dean.

"Who are you" he demanded, inching so the table full of knives was between them. His fingers scrambled through the razor edges and cool handles.

"I'm the one that gripped you tight and raised you from perdition" the light had spilled over the demon's face and his skin was stretched taunt and white over the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

"Yeah thanks for that" Dean sneered at the demon and didn't hesitate as he thrust his blade down past the middle ribs and into the beings heart. He tried to ignore Bobby's pained gasp and stared at the blood that blossomed and bubbled around the knife, coating the blade until it shone like a rose pinned to a dinner jacket.

The demon blinked and the pouting smear of his mouth folded up into an angry line, making him look like a petulant child as he wrapped thin hands around the handle, fingers curling into the wooden grooves. Dean wasn't even that surprised when he drew the blade out unharmed and nervously glanced at Bobby's grey face. Bobby's hands were empty and he shook his head and made to move forward but there was no real fight in him and the demon glanced languidly over the sharp edge of his shoulder at his approach.

Dean didn't know what he saw in those eyes but the older hunter stumbled to a halt and stopped dead as the demon swung back around, his face perfectly calm and illuminated into a visage of gold power and white magnificence.

"We need to talk, Dean" The man said softly and stared intently up into Dean's face. His eyes were full of stars and Dean couldn't understand a single emotion on the man's face as he spoke. Fear; slick like oil slithered down his throat as Bobby suddenly crumpled to the floor, his limbs folding up weakly beneath him. "Alone"

"Who are you?" Dean hissed, wishing for the demon's death and bent down next to Bobby, his fingers pressing against the man's neck almost hesitantly.

"Your friend is alive. I would not..."

The demon possessed man blinked once before the mask of iced indifference slid back across his features, making them cold and inhuman as he answered "Castiel"

"I figured that much, I mean what are you" Dean's anger was enough to send him to his feet and his fear was enough to keep him there, he didn't know what was going on but his body acted automatically, looming over the small figure as if he could intimate the man. He didn't forget that the being wasn't human but it was nice to pretend. For a moment anyway.

Castiel stared up at him from beneath the too long, curling curtain of dark hair, tendrils brushing at butter-knife cheeks and spiralling past the pouting smear of his lips and suddenly frowned, his calm face wrinkled gently in a display of emotion that Dean hadn't seen yet. It was slightly mesmerising; whatever the demon was that had raised him from hell he had chosen his meat-suit well; the kid was scarily attractive, almost angelic looking in the pale blur of dawn light.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord"

Dean could have laughed at the irony

--0--

The Angel didn't stay long.

Just long enough to threaten Dean with hell and spew off sentence after sentence filled with the words 'apocalypse' and 'end of the world'. Dean didn't really listen; his mind was still all over the place, unable to focus on anything but the slashes of sunlight on the horizon and those giant emerald eyes that were watching him with such intensity.

He had been to the end of the world before, seen hell and apocalypses and he just didn't give a shit. He wanted Bobby to wake up and to find Sam again. The being before him sighed softly and his hand suddenly reached out towards Dean in a surprisingly human gesture, his small fingers pressed against the smouldering handprint that was curled around his shoulder and Dean's skin felt full of needles and hellfire.

He flinched away and stared up into those big, angelic eyes and was surprised at the sympathy that shone out of him. The man's mouth started to form words, his eyebrows still knotted across his forehead in emotion that made the angel's usually blank features look older and so much more human.

"Who are you" Dean asked again and it was the angel that flinched away this time and Dean could all but see the war that sparked off behind those, brilliantly bright eyes and for a moment Dean almost expected a reply.

The sound of wings echoed in his ears as the angel disappeared.

* * *

**Authors notes:**

Painfully short first chapter, bear with me. This is a sequel, if you don't know what is going on that will be why.

Pairing hasn't been decided yet, so if you have any preference please say. Not sure about this fic, so if you like it, please say so.

Reviews are always wanted.


	2. Are you there God?

**PAIRING POLL NOW UP. **

**Author's notes: **_thanks very much to the wonderful __faithunbreakable_ who corrected my many mistakes and listened patiently while I threw ideas at her. Long chapter, as an offering to make up for the last one and the wait. Enjoy.

**Warnings: **_none. _

* * *

**-- Chapter two—**

**Are you there God, it's me Dean Winchester? **

Dean found Bobby in the attic.

It was probably the one place he had never been allowed to go in Bobby's house and he was hesitant as he approached the creaking stairs, half expecting to see blood and horror looming above him.

The small, happily furnished bedroom, with its pictures and stacks of well thumbed books was less expected and Dean paused in the doorway, frowning as he took in the striped wallpaper and the lines of neatly arranged toy soldiers that stared at him with painted faces, their guns primed. "Bobby?" he called tentatively and stepped into the centre of room, closing his eyes as the morning light stroked at his skin tenderly.

Bobby was sat on the bed, slumped and coiled around a small box. He didn't turn around at Dean's voice and seemed to curl up tighter, shrinking before Dean's eyes. "Harry was maybe fourteen when I met him," he whispered and Dean really wished Sam was here for this, he didn't know how to comfort people. The words got lost inside him until all he had was sarcastic replies and twisted smiles. Bobby needed more than that and Dean was painfully aware of his own shortcomings.

"Your Daddy brought him round," Bobby continued and glanced up at Dean's suddenly inquisitive face. "Saved his life and then gave him to me. Harry was like family. It tears me up inside seeing him being paraded around like that."

Dean sat down next to the older hunter, perching on the edge of the small bed and glanced at the neatly made sheets and the dusty shelves. "Did he?" he began and gestured to the room, trying not to stare too deeply into the weary folds of Bobby's face and the clouded pale eyes that were unfocused with memories.

"Yeah, he slept here. You've never seen a kid so happy with a room." Bobby's hands tightened on the box that was resting in his lap and the skin on his knuckles bleached out to a desperate white.

"We'll get him back," Dean said suddenly and rested his palm on Bobby's curled up shoulders, gripping tightly at the chequered shirt as if he could convey his determination and certainty with a touch. Bobby's answering snort was full of disbelief and anger.

"He was gone a long time ago, Dean," his voice was soft with futility and he shrugged Dean away from him, placing the unopened box onto Harry's pillow with sigh. "Come on, we have research to do."

Bobby's eyes turned back to Dean and stared cool and hard down in his upturned face. "You look so much like your father sometimes."

He had turned away and was down the stairs before Dean could even think to ask what that meant.

**--00--**

Dean could see the hope in Sam's eyes.

It burnt brighter the more he spoke and for a moment he was scared it would set the entire house on fire. His little brother was always too hopeful for his own good, but it was nice to know he hadn't changed entirely while he was down in the pit. Sam was different now definitely but maybe the important things were still there.

"Dean, this is good news," Sam said, his voice all soft and full of emotion and Dean flinched away from it, pained to be in presence of emotion that wasn't ugly and twisted with hate and desperation. Hell had taken so many things from him that sometimes he didn't even realise their absence.

"How?"

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap, I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys you know?"

Dean had to look away from his brother's bright, open face and his eyes slid to the corner of the room, towards Bobby's hunched over frame but staring at the other man only made it worse. The old hunter had gone cold, his shoulders were hard and unmoving as he bent over his books, trying desperately to disappear into the pages and forget about what ever connection he had with the boy. Neither of them had told Sam about that and looking at the building hope etching itself into Sammy's features, he wished they had. Even if there was such thing as angels, Dean wasn't sure they were any better than the demons.

"Okay, say it's true. Say there's angels, then what? There's a God?"

"At this point, Vegas money's on yes," Bobby interrupted and Dean hated the hollow ring to his voice.

"Look, I know you're not choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof," Sam continued, his eyes trying to burn his own faith into them.

"Proof," Dean tried hard not to snap at Sam, and turned away from Bobby to stare disbelievingly up at his brother, as always hating the extra inches Sam had on him. "Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry but I'm not buying it."

"Why?"

"Because if there is a God about out there, why would he give a crap about me?" Dean choked a little on those words. They felt too real, too true and he wondered if his brother realised the weight of them. He knew he wasn't good enough or important enough to be special, he was just Dean and just Dean did not get direct interference from an almighty power.

Sam shook his head a little at him and made to speak again but Bobby suddenly slapped a pile of books between them, apparently unwilling to wait for them to stop arguing and Dean could see the desperate need to understand and know that lay heavy across Bobby's worn features, sparking life back into those clouded, pale eyes that stared up from beneath the rim of his cap.

"Start reading," he ordered and there was a severity to his words that was unusual enough for Sam to pause and glance at the older hunter, his face darkening with confusion. Dean only just managed to cut him off before he started to question Bobby.

"You are getting me some pie," he said and waved the thinnest book he could find in Sam's face, relieved by the carefree laughter that echoed around the place.

He pretended not to notice Bobby's dead eyes as Sam left for town.

--00—

The living room was too small to ignore the interaction that Dean knew would be coming, but he tucked himself beneath the thin sheets that Bobby had provided and clamped his eyes shut hoping that his pretence of sleep would be enough.

Castiel had been stood by the window again, staring at the sky with eyes full of stars, when Dean had last glanced up and he didn't really expect the angel to have moved his vessel; sometimes it seemed the Angel forgot he even could.

"Why him?" Bobby's voice was sharp in the silence of the room and Dean tensed against his pillows, straining to hear the soft reply.

"Harry was chosen for me."

Dean winced and wasn't even surprised by the crash that followed the Angel's words. He could hear Bobby stomping across the floor, his boots kicking at their scattered things and his words choking and withering to sounds of distress that reminded Dean of a wounded animal.

"Did Harry choose it?"

There was a pause; a moment of hesitancy that was probably more telling than any answer the angel could follow up with. "We came to an agreement."

The ominous click of a safety catch was enough to make Dean scramble off the couch in shock and he stumbled blearily to stare at the scene before him. Bobby had a revolver pressed against the pale skin of Harry's forehead; black curls sliding against the barrel and Castiel's eyes were staring blankly up at the hunter; full of stars and apathy.

"Release him," Bobby growled and his eyes flickered to Dean warningly. There was too much pain in his voice for it to be a true threat but Dean didn't know what to do and watched the scene unfold feeling all hollow and confused.

"I cannot." Harry's body wavered as Bobby pressed harder against his head. Castiel's eyes were hard and unyielding before the man's grief. "You will not hurt Harry, Robert Singer. I know how much you care for my vessel."

"Don't call him that," Bobby growled but there was defeat in his words.

Castiel was silent in compliance but Dean didn't think that made it any better.

Bobby's arm went slack and it flopped against his side, the gun heavy in his shaking fingers. "Can I. Can I talk to him?"

Castiel's eyes wavered for just a second, flashing brilliant green before they retained their glowing steadiness and Dean winced in apprehension for the answer. He didn't know what it would be but it probably didn't matter. Bobby would be dissatisfied either way.

"Harry has not talked to you since he was fifteen, what makes you think he wishes to talk to you now?"

The angel's words were cool with emotionless curiosity but his eyes were flashing again and Dean thought he saw a spark of lightning flicker between windswept curls and wondered if maybe the person Castiel was possessing what a lot more awake than any of them realised.

"He's like my son," Bobby whispered and Castiel tilted the boy's head. Harry's face: heart shaped and beautiful with youth was illuminated with the golden glow of power, and the angel stared through him at Bobby's emotion with a cruel lack of understanding.

"But he is not. Harry's parents are dead."

Bobby face seemed to loosen, all the tension pouring from his skin until it sagged and folded against the bones of his skull. Dean thought he looked terribly old in that moment and hated the angel a little for hurting the man and hated the boy he was possessing for allowing this to happen, he couldn't have imagined a reason great enough to let himself get possessed.

Dean stared at the angel as he turned back to the window; Bobby's quiet footsteps echoing around them as he left. He own question was half angry and half fear; if angels could act like that he wasn't sure how helpful they were going to be. "Do you have to be so cruel?"

The angel tilted his head and his eyes were brilliantly green over the ridge of his thin shoulder, shimmering with emotion that only someone who was human could feel, "This is an act of mercy, Dean, Bobby cannot see Harry anymore. That would be truly cruel."

Dean didn't have the words to respond, but couldn't help but think that now he would always see the angel and the boy he was possessing. He wasn't sure which of them understood the least about humans.

"Why are you here?" he asked and his voice was cracking with emotion as he took in the scene that had just transpired.

"To warn you," Castiel replied calmly, still unmoving from his position facing towards the window and Dean hated him for his lack of caring and grabbed at Castiel's vessel before he realised what he was doing.

Dean was surprised that his hand had managed to wrap entirely around Harry's thin arm, his thumb and finger were nearly touching as he squeezed the flesh and Alistair's laughter was suddenly echoing in his mind. The bones beneath his hand felt delicate and human and he could imagine himself gripping tighter, pressing into the youth's tender skin until his fingertips met and the bones groaned painfully in his grasp. Alistair's laughter was deafening.

"_Dean." _

"Dean."

Big shatter glass green eyes were watching him calmly, empty of emotion but bright with knowing and Dean flinched away from the angel, snatching his hand away from the youth and watched guilty as the bruises blossomed like rose petals pressed into the folds of heavy parchment, tracing the delicate lines of Harry's limb.

Castiel caught his gaze once more and his eyes were full of heavenly light and soft human sympathy. "You are with us," he said softly and stepped forward until he was stood before the hunter and reached up, having to roll to the tops of his toes to be eye-level with the taller man. His hands were hot and full of static as he placed them on Dean's forehead and Dean's eyes flickered in pain at the sudden sharp feeling that raced through his head, burning at the edges of his mind.

"And we are with you," Castiel continued and stepped away, almost fading into the spilling morning light that wrapped hungrily around his thin form, his face still glowing and moving with humanity. His delicate features were a blur of gold and glitter but his eyes, sharp and violent green were smouldering with intensity. "It might be a good idea to look into 'the rising of the witnesses."

Dean didn't even have time to ask what that meant before the air was full of the sound of wings.

--00—

Dean wasn't stupid, despite the way he portrayed himself.

He knew something was up with Sam, had seen the edgy agitation that has plastered itself into every line of his brother's being. He could see the differences even if he didn't know what caused it and he would have asked except that wasn't what the Winchesters did.

Their father had set the frameworks for their stoic lack of communication, and he and Sam had perfected the contorted mixture of painful sincerity and lies that made up their relationship years ago. It used to be different because Dean had known everything there was to know about his brother, he had understood every expression and movement and single worded sentence that his brother gave. But now there was a gaping chasm that stretched unspoken and dangerous between them and Dean didn't know anything anymore.

Dean didn't understand Sam's agitation and secrets and Sam didn't notice Dean's fear and his nightmares. Asking about Sam's secrets meant he would have to share his own and Dean wasn't ready for that. His dreams were still filled with fire and blood and pain and it was only once he knew Sam had left did he allow himself to fade into sleep, knowing that the nightmare would swallow him up as always and not wishing for his brother to see him so weak.

--00—

It was only after the whole 'mark of the witness' thing had blown over that Dean finally started to think.

He didn't like where his thoughts took him. His heart was like lead, pressing and scratching away at his ribs as he curled up on Bobby's sofa. Sam's long form was folded up like cardboard across from him; his brother's too long limbs awkward as he tried to fit himself onto the narrow cushions and watching him, Dean almost asked Bobby if they could use Harry's room.

But even h wasn't that insensitive.

"Excellent job with the witnesses."

Castiel in Harry's body was stood in the light of the kitchen, his youthful face smoothed into familiar emotionless blankness. He reminded Dean of a canvass waiting to be painted on.

Dean sighed and rolled of the couch, staggering wearily to stand before the angel, "Thanks a lot for the angelic assistance." He sneered and wanted to stab his finger into Harry's narrow chest and push until the youth staggered backwards.

"You were warned." Castiel's voice sounded like a hiss and Dean watched as those great big, green eyes narrowed to slits of irritation and impatience and he felt as if he was missing something that was blatantly obvious.

"Oh yeah," he sneered back "That cryptic crap was very helpful. I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Not dicks."

Castiel face almost moved in feeling, but there was a hollow lack of understanding in his words, unable to feel the heaviness of Dean's emotion. "Read the bible, Angels are warriors of God. I am a soldier."

"And Harry," Dean demanded suddenly, "Is Harry a soldier too?"

Castiel's eyes hardened, his cheeks hollowed out until the bones in his face were sharp and blade like through the paper thin translucency of his skin and it was probably the most emotion Dean had seen the angel express and probably told much more than Dean was able to understand. "Do not ask questions you have no understanding of, Dean Winchester, you will not like the answers we give you."

Dean hesitated and for a moment was certain that Harry's hands were full of fire.

"There are many things at work." Castiel spoke and his voice was back to ringing magnificent emptiness of angels that Dean was starting to associate with Castiel. "We have bigger concerns than just humans."

"And let me guess I don't want to know what those concerns are?"Dean asked slowly and Castiel's mouth quirked in something that would have been amusement if the angel knew how to be amused and the looming soldier was gone, replaced by the possessed thin, green eyed waif that was in some ways more disturbing.

"I sincerely doubt you want to, but you need to know." Castiel stepped away from Dean and his hands moved at his sides, thin fingers brushing at the material of his jeans as if they were struggling against something. "The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals. Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

"Well, we put those souls back to rest," Dean interrupted and Harry's eyes flickered with emotion before Castiel's celestial essence swallowed him in a burst of sunlight and stars and emptiness once more.

"It doesn't matter, the seal was broken."

Dean hesitated and stared searchingly at Harry's face, trying to find some hint of the boy that so obviously lingered beneath the surface of the angel's power. There was nothing there and Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Why break the seals anyway?"

Castiel stared hard at Dean; his hands were twitching at his sides again, tracing the seams of his jeans nervously. "Think of the seals like locks on a door, once the final seal is broken Lucifer walks free."

"And that's why you're here? To stop Lucifer?" Dean asked and Castiel tilted his head slightly to one side as if listening to someone over his shoulder whispering in his ear.

"That's why we arrived."

Dean didn't dare ask where he or Harry fitted into this and Castiel's star lit eyes told him that the angel didn't really care. There was nothing of Harry in that gaze and Castiel seemed further from humanity that ever before without him.

It was with a choked scream that he awoke on Bobby's couch.

--00--

"Sleep well, Dean?"

Dean shot upright gasping and for a moment all he could see was the bright colour of Castiel's eyes, full of stars and sunlight and pushing away the darkness of his dreams.

He didn't ask what the angel was doing watching him sleep, not anymore, Dean had been dragged out of his nightmare by Castiel's soft voice one too many times to question the Angel's presence at his bedside. But despite always being greeted by Castiel's emotionless voice, it was Harry's sympathetic, knowing eyes that watched as he recovered for those nightmares. He wondered who was actually interfering in his dreams sometimes.

"Cas...," he moaned and flopped back against the pillows. Fear made slug trails of sweat slither down between his eyes and Dean rubbed at his forehead wearily, glad Sam wasn't here to see him.

Castiel glanced at him over the thin ridge of Harry's shoulder, his face smoothed out to marble consistency. He was perched on the edge of the bed like a porcelain doll, all immobile limbs and glass eyes and without anything human going on behind his pretty face. His small, tense form left the sheets without the slightest impression as he stood up and Dean couldn't help but trace his eyes along the youth's neck just to make sure there was the faint movement of his throat that signalled he was breathing.

"Dean, you should not leave Sam alone."

"Yeah, so you've said," Dean scoffed and rolled off the end of the bed, happy to put the furniture between himself and the angel. Castiel's lack of humanity scared him sometimes, especially when his eyes were still burning with images of Alistair and Lilith and a hundred other demonic vessels: they had a lack of humanity too.

Castiel blinked patiently back at him and stood unmoving while Dean threw on a rumpled shirt and peered at his eyes in the small, cracked mirror that hung over the bed. His eyes were wide and shadowed; the lack of sleep had left purple bruises pressing his skin deep into skull. Dean sighed and resisted the urge to smash his fist against the mirror.

"You are not sleeping," Castiel stated suddenly and the angel shifted almost awkwardly on his feet, his face contorted into an expression of pained sympathy.

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped off to the bathroom, calling sarcastically over his shoulder "Yeah, well, you try sleeping with a creepy tax accountant watching you."

"I do not sleep."

Dean smiled at himself in the bathroom mirror and shook his head in amusement, bending his head to run his face under the shockingly cold water, it was like a slap, waking him up and Dean was glad of it. His recent insomnia meant he had been living a life of redbull and coffee and his hands were starting to twitch will all the caffeine.

"All right Cas, what is it you want?"

Castiel was stood in exactly the same spot Dean had left him and the only movement of his face was the slight frown that had folded in between his dark eyebrows, making his eyes narrow into slit of violent colour that looked all the more shocking against his paper thin skin.

"Dean, Sam is going down a dangerous path. You must stop him or we will." the angel paused and Dean would have scoffed except that he seemed serious and Castiel hadn't shown he had a humorous bone in his body.

"Oh yeah well, he always did like playing in the woods." Dean joked, trying to ignore the nervous prickling that raced along the muscles of his back.

Castiel didn't move, he never did but there was something so ironically human in his next words that Dean couldn't help but wonder if Harry was speaking to him as well. "He has dangerous playmates."

Dean froze and fear hit the back of his throat, clogging and knotting up his tongue. "Where is he?"

"425 Waterman." And with that the green eyed man disappeared to the sound of fluttering wings.

--00—

It was that demon bitch: Ruby.

Dean could recognise her self-satisfied smirk anywhere. It didn't matter that she had changed her meat-suit, he could all but see the evil crawling and slithering behind her pretty face with every smile she flashed at his brother. His anger was fire and ice, burning through him so hard that his knees felt weak as he watched them with the possessed man and he pressed his face against the cool metal of the doorway, hoping the frozen frame would temper the heat of his rage.

Sam's irises bled black and his brother's physic mojo crap pulsated beneath his skin, threatening to erupt ugly and dark out of his eyes. The tied up demon choked on its own smoke and Dean was breathless as the concrete floor around them burnt and smouldered black and red until there was just a maze of ashes and sparks and a bloody man roped to a chair left.

"How did it feel?" Ruby asked, touching Sam's shoulder in a mockery of comfort.

"Good." Sam replied and bent to untie the unconscious man, "No more headaches."

Ruby's smirk stretched wide and ugly across her face as they started to lead the man towards the door, his bloody torso slung like a carcass between their smiles and idiocy. Dean made sure he blocked their way, leaning against the doorway and staring half angry, half horrified at the scene before him.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?" he demanded and they froze and their eyes met in a moment too full of emotion to ever really understand. There was a moment when he wasn't sure what Sam would do and hated himself for preparing to fight his own brother.

"Dean. Wait, let me...," Sam began and Dean wanted to smack the words right out of his mouth.

"If you say 'explain', so help me God," he interrupted and Sam flinched away from him, pressing himself unknowingly against Ruby and the man now solely in her grasp.

The demon rested her hand on his brother's arm, curling her delicate fingers around his muscles and staring benevolently up at Dean, her smile twisted and fanged. Her eyes flashed demon black "Hello Dean. Good to see you again."

Dean only vaguely heard Sam's cry of no as he rushed at Ruby. Surprise and the unconscious man caught the demon off guard and he managed to twist the knife around her arms and press its tip against her chest, pushing hard enough so that every breath she took stabbed the needle point into her skin. Sam grabbed at his arms and his added weight meant that Ruby was able to slither like a snake from his grasp and they tumbled and fell in a tangle of limbs and hatred until she had her hands wrapped around his throat and her nails were slicing the flesh of his neck threateningly.

"Ruby, stop it!"

Sam's cry made Ruby stop, but her hands were still coiled around his neck and she hesitated long enough for Dean to realise that they would fight again and one of them would have to die when that happened.

"Aren't you an obedient demon bitch," he sneered and staggered upright, ignoring Ruby's angry, dark face and Sam's mournful expression. Sam reached out to and started to try and explain, but Dean just shrugged him off.

"Dean please, I know it looks bad."

"Looks bad!" Dean struck his brother then, hitting him hard enough that his knuckles cracked and Sam should have hit the floor. Except he didn't but the crunch of bone was almost good enough. "Do you have any idea how bad this is? How far off the beaten track you have wandered."

"I'm helping people!" Sam retorted and Dean hated the sincerity that shone out of his brother's bruised face. It would have been easier if Sam hadn't believed in what he was doing, he might have been easier to control. The demon had manipulated him good. "I've saved more lives in the past two months than we saved in years. This is a good thing!"

Dean hit him again and this time Sam did tumble to the floor, staggering beneath his anger and falling into Ruby's expectant arms. She hissed like an angry cat up at him and her fingers, still coloured with the tiny specks of his blood tangled themselves protectively into Sam's shirt.

"If this is a good thing, why are the angels telling me stop you then?" Dean demanded and Sam's face closed up before his words, the purpose and hope in his eyes disappearing like a flame doused with water.

"The angels?" he asked quietly and Dean was reminded of them growing up and his brother asking if their dad was going to come back alive, all big eyes and worry.

"Cas, told me to stop you or he would. He told me she was dangerous."

Ruby's eyes flashed demon black once again and her forehead knotted in emotion that seemed out of place, pulling her skin tight in an expression that Dean didn't quite understand. "He told you that?" She demanded and dropped Sam to face Dean on her feet. "Castiel or Harry told you?"

Dean hesitated and both of them stared at Ruby as her mouth twisted up into a smear of wine coloured lips and disdainful mockery.

"You know, you should really check your own friends before you go throwing stones at other people." She glanced over at Sam and something passed between them, something that made his brother's face smooth out to terrifying acceptance. "I'd look into Castiel's vessel if I were you. You might be surprised what you find."

Ruby grinned at the silence that met her words "I'm not the only thing that you should be hunting."

--00--

* * *

_Okay, so this story is now planned out mostly with a few variables. Mainly being pairings. **Please vote in the poll on my profile.** The story is planned for around 15 chapters long and will start of following season four but end up differing greatly. _

_Reviews make me write and post faster. Promise._


	3. Metamorphosis

**Author's notes**: this is a bit of a filler chapter. It is needed to explain much of the plot later on concerning Sam and Dean, however it means there isn't much Harry. Next chapter will make up for it, I promise so bear with me and don't skip.

**Warnings:** none. _Unbeta'd_ so please no comments on mistakes as they will be corrected.

* * *

**--00— Chapter Three—00--**

**Metamorphosis **

The thought was like poison.

Once the question of Harry's origins was placed into his head, Dean couldn't let it go. It wormed and burrowed until he spent the nights lying awake and running over every encounter he had ever had with the angel, trying to find some vital clue that he had been too stupid to notice the first time.

Sam didn't help, he was already wrapped around Ruby's little finger and was leading a campaign against Harry and Castiel that was making more and more sense the more Dean listened. "What if the angels aren't real? What if this, Harry is just playing us all? Who would ever suspect an angel?"

"Bobby knew and trusted Harry," Dean responded but knew even before Sam replied that anyone could make mistakes, even Bobby.

"It's been... How many years since Bobby has seen him? Anything could have happened. He could be possessed by a demon," Sam gestured wildly and Dean wondered how Sam could use that excuse when he was playing nice with his own demon-bitch.

"He's not a demon; the devil traps didn't hold him."

"Well something else then." Sam sighed and slumped on the motel bed, his eyes bright with conviction behind the too long strands of his hair "Just... maybe we should check into him and Castiel before we accept anything they say"

Dean's jaw tightened and he glanced over at his baby brother and at the familiar, intelligent exasperation lining Sam's features and didn't recognise him at all. "This doesn't mean that what you are doing is right."

Sam stared up at him, hard eyed and full of stubborn conviction and irritation. The smear of his mouth narrowed and Dean wasn't sure he was ready for his brother's reply.

Dean was glad when the phone rang to interrupt their conversation.

--00—

When Dean was twelve he had figured out how to identify a hunter half a mile away with a single glance at their faces.

His certainty was because of the odd expression they all had, it was a look full of dark, angry humour and nearly overwhelming weariness. It made their faces sharper and their skin quicker to line. It made them rougher and their eyes hard, as if their emotions were slipping away overwhelmed by their dogged determination to kill instead of be killed. It was a look that only prostitutes, veterans and hunters had and Travis was the original poster child for it.

"Dean!"

"I told we should have hid the beer" Dean murmured over his shoulder as they stepped into the motel room. Travis's worn, grizzled face folded up into a smile of yellow teeth and sincere amusement and he lumbered off the chair and grabbed at Dean, enfolding the younger man in a bear hug that smelt of beer and cigars and old blood. The man had barely changed since the last time Dean had seen him and he breathed in the man's smell, his chest hurting at the memories of his childhood and his father that flooded his mind.

"Ah good to see you" Travis grinned slapping Dean on the back once more before grabbing at Sam as well. His brother looked like a rake, all unfinished limbs in the circle of Travis' arms and he grinned awkwardly into the pepper and salt hair of the older hunter.

"Gees, you got tall kid," Travis laughed at Sam and looked between them, his face full of memories and that odd combination of pride and sorrow that Dean had seen on Bobby's face every time they had staggered back to his after a close call with some evil creature. "John would have been proud of you. Sticking together like this"

Both of them winched at that, "Yeah we're thick as thieves," Dean said softly but his biting remark wasn't quite as harsh as it probably would have been if the question of Harry and Castiel hadn't been so heavy between them.

Travis, oblivious to the rising tension, lowered himself into the motel chair once again, gesturing at them to sit next to him even as he resumed drinking their beer.

"Thanks for helping out an old man. I'm a little short handed" he grinned darkly over the damp rim of the beer, gesturing at his cast encased arm. No one asked how it had happened and if Dean had thought about that more, the very fact Sam didn't say anything would have depressed him. He had grown pretty adept at ignoring a lot of things Sam did or didn't do now.

"So what are we hunting?" Sam asked, hunching over the table.

"Boys, we got a rougarou on our hands"

"A rougarou? Is that made up," Dean frowned, trying to control the slight amused twitch that was threatening the corners of his mouth as he glanced over at Sam's subtle expression of disbelief. "He's making that up."

Travis sucked at the beer bottle and rolled his eyes "I'm not. They're mean, nasty little suckers, the works. Start out human for all intents and purposes; but they get ugly soon enough."

Sam's wide eyed expression had narrowed and shortened and his eyes were sharp and uncomfortable as he listened to Travis, shifting so much that he brushed up against Dean nervously. "So what they go through a kind of metamorphosis?"

"Yep, like a maggot turning into a bull-fly. But most of all they're hungry" Travis titled the beer bottle back into the wrinkled line of his mouth. "For mostly anything at first... but then they want the long pig and after that first bite, there's no coming back"

"Long pig?" Dean could have guessed what Travis was referring but he found his mouth ran with his thoughts and looking at the crinkled disgust spreading across Sam's face was enough for him to wait for an answer.

"He means human flesh"

"And that is my word of the day"

--00—

He always went back to Bobby in the end.

Before his Dad had died, John had held pretty much the same infallible position that Bobby now occupied in his mind, except maybe with more fear. But now Bobby was his first stop and it probably said a lot about how hesitant he was when it came to angels and Harry that it took him so long to call.

"Bobby?"

Bobby's drawling voice crackled awkwardly over his mobile and Dean sighed and lumbered across the motel room trying to get a better signal.

"Is everything okay Dean?"

"Yeah, it's great. We're hunting a long pig craving rougarou" Dean joked half-heartedly. Even if he wasn't feeling the jokes too much himself lately, he was pretty sure it was important to keep them up, even if he was less sure exactly why.

"Boy, I have no idea what the hell you just said" Bobby sighed and there was an odd scuffling background noise. "Is Sam there with you?"

"Yeah, he's gone researching or something" Dean paused and his lips suddenly felt dry as he waited, "Bobby, I need to know about Harry"

The phone buzzed with Bobby's silence and Dean waited, listening to the rhythm of the older man's breathing and hoping he hadn't pushed him too far with this one.

"He was a good kid, one of the best. He had this really odd British accent and he used to have nightmares, screamed about green lights and red eyes. His back was a map of scars but the only one he ever noticed was the small lightning bolt on his forehead" Bobby trailed off and Dean could hear the misery in his silence. He closed his eyes at the older man's pain, rubbing at his forehead wearily, sometimes it felt like everyone was unravelling too fast all around him.

"Look Dean, I don't really know who he was, he never said anything about where he came from and I never asked, but he was a good kid, a good person. Now what's this all about?"

Dean didn't have any great skill with language, he couldn't make people tell him everything without asking and he didn't have Sam's big, sympathetic eyes or his mumbling sincerity. But as he asked the next question he wished, not for the first time, he did. "Is he human?"

"Excuse me?"

"Bobby, is he human?" Dean demanded, desperate for the conversation to end. "A demon mentioned him being something we should hunt..."

"Yes because of course demons never lie!" Bobby snarled and there were more violent noises that echoed angrily through his mobile. "Dean I love you and Sam but I swear if you harm one hair on that boy's head, I'll..."

"We won't hurt him, I just need to know."

There was a pause, a pause that that told Dean everything that he knew Bobby would be unwilling to tell him. "Never mind Bobby"

"Dean." Bobby interrupted hastily before he could hang up, his accent heavy on his vowels as he spoke. "I know what you're thinking, but leave it. He's a good person, he's not evil or a demon or anything like that."

"I won't hurt him" Dean repeated and there was enough sincerity in his words that he hoped he wouldn't have to go against his word.

"Your Daddy said that too."

It was Bobby that hung up.

--00--

Sam was pouting again.

Or rather he was staring blankly out the front of the impala, turned slightly away from Dean as if he blamed him for the need to burn the rougarou alive, or rather the man Jack.

He knew Sam wasn't comfortable with the rougarou situation, especially since their intended victim was still an ordinary man for all intents and purposes. Not that Dean doubted he was wouldn't change, Travis had said they always changed and as much as Sam might hope he didn't, Dean wasn't prepared to let a monster go on the rampage because of only hope. Just because Sam saw himself mirrored in this situation didn't mean they could just wait until some innocent bystanders were eaten by the monster and Dean was starting to get angry that Sam couldn't distinguish the difference.

He tried not to tell himself he was seeing too much difference.

"Maybe he can fight it off" Sam said sharply, turning to burn holes into Dean with the intensity of his gaze.

"Yeah and maybe he can't" Dean retorted softly, not bothering to glance over. Sam hated being ignored and dismissed; it was a trick their father used to pull. But he couldn't make himself look at his brother at the moment, there was too much worry and confusion churning up inside him and Sam's anger never helped. "You sure you aren't letting your emotions get in the way here"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, except it wasn't actually a question, more like he was daring Dean to continue.

Dean shrugged, rolling his shoulder beneath the worn material of his jacket, "You know, nice dude, but he's got something evil inside of him. Something in his blood, maybe you can relate" he finally turned to stare at Sam and wasn't surprised by the mixture of anger and hurt that was painted and burning across his brother's features.

Sam turned away from him and sucked at his lips and pressuring them until they were a line of bleach white against the colour of his face and the spasming muscles beneath his skin was like his emotions were literally bursting out of his flesh and Dean didn't have a clue what those emotions were anymore.

"Stop the car." Sam exhaled and spun back around, his voice rising to an emotional hiss "Stop the car or I will!"

Dean hated that Sam could even make that threat and hated Sam more for actually making it. He didn't think he'd ever have the words to express the unfairness of their relationship but he supposed he had never really noticed it before. His fingers were tight around the wheel as he pulled off the road sharply.

Sam was flying out his seat before the Impala had even rolled to stop. He staggered upright, breathing so heavily it moved the long strands of his hair across his face and glared once more at him before turning away from the Impala, chest heaving with a tangle of feeling that Dean wasn't even going to try and understand.

The lake glittered, wide and untouched purity before them and Dean was darkly amused by the beauty of their surrounds and the ugly conversation that was taking place in them.

"I am sick of you treating me like a freak," his brother snapped, hands on hips and the muscles in his jaw still moving against the lines of his flesh angrily. "Or worse; an idiot. I know the difference between right and wrong Dean."

"Do you?"

Sam's anger had smouldered down to ash and Dean could see the edges of wear and pain it had left in its wake, driving roads of age into his brother's previously entirely smooth skin and shadowing his eyes until there were smears of colour pressed beneath Sam's desperate gaze.

"Of course I do. But I have demon blood in me. This disease pumping through my veins, and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! I'm a whole new level of freak! And I'm just trying to take this - this curse... and make something good out of it. Because I have to." Sam shuddered to a stop and seemed to fold in on himself, tucking his hands around his body and curling his shoulders forward protectively.

He almost reminded Dean of a child.

His heart ached for his brother suddenly. He understood feeling like a freak and making do. Seeing Sam so tried and uncertain was oddly comforting because despite the pain his brother was in, it was better than the cold certainty he had been previously wearing. It had reminded Dean of a demon's mentality

Confusion was human and as long as Sam was confused about his mojo and what to do with it, he was still Sam, still human and Dean was sad how desperately he needed confirmation of that.

He reached up and slapped Sam's arm awkwardly "Okay, okay, let's just go talk to this Jack then, maybe we can help."

His brother didn't thank him, but his face was painted in colours of gratitude and desperation and it was more than enough for Dean in that moment.

--00—

It didn't work.

But there again, Dean hadn't ever thought it would. The world was ugly and people were disappointments and he had never expected anything else, not even from himself or those closest to him. To do so was asking to be hurt.

Like Sam was.

His brother was made up of shadows and slashes of too bright light, his face hidden protectively behind the curtain of his hair as he stared out of the impala, watching the small spills of yellow light from streetlights that passed them in a blur of sickly colour.

"Sam..."

"Don't" Sam said faintly, his voice quivering with emotion and things unresolved. Dean knew that voice and it didn't matter how angry he was at his brother, or how much Sam had been scaring him lately with his freaky mojo crap, he hated hearing his brother in pain.

His mouth was dry and his lips locked and Dean hated that he didn't have the words to make it better. He didn't have the words to tell Sam that he had to kill that man, that the being that had killed Travis had been completely evil or that it was over and now everything would be fine.

Dean didn't have the words to lie.

--00--

"Dean"

Dean flinched in awareness suddenly and spun around the sound of Harry's soft voice. The angel had perched himself, stiffly in the passenger seat, his thin limbs folded in towards his body and his head titled patiently as he waited for Dean to notice him.

"Jesus, can't you knock or something?"

Castiel frowned slightly, his vessel's forehead knotting in confusion as he stared almost inquisitively at Dean, his glowing eyes blank with a lack of understanding "No,"

"Why are you here, last time you appeared it was for a confusing little pep talk about my brother"

"Dean..." Harry's face was glitter gold in the darkness of the impala, his skin glowing faintly with smears of power that Dean wasn't sure were consequence of Castiel or Harry anymore. Harry's hair was curling in limp waves of colour against his face, shadowing the angelic radiance of his eyes and falling heavily against the sharp edges of his cheekbones. He looked tired Dean realised suddenly and hated himself for even the small spark of worry this caused.

"Dean, I know you have been having doubts about me, but..."

"No, stop talking right now" he interrupted, pointing at the stiff figure beside himself angrily "this night has been hard enough without your divine intervention. We had to burn a man alive and we lost a friend, a good hunter that was fighting your battles. Where were you when I nearly became munchies for a hungry cannibal?"

Castiel sighed and Dean watched as he glanced over into the backseat, his eyes blank and unreadable as he stared at Sam's sleeping body. His brother had folded himself miserably into the back seat of the impala, his feet hanging awkwardly over the upholstery and pressing against the small, frost covered windows. He looked about as small as he could with a muscular, 6'4 frame, worry making him pathetic.

"This hurts now but this is a good thing, Sam needed this Dean"

Dean snarled softly, unwilling to wake his brother even as his anger bubbled hot and poisonous through his chest, "What? He needed to burn a man alive? Or he needed to have any sort of hope of a normal life smashed out of him?"

Castiel was unmoving, his face cold and emotionless as he stared at Dean in silence. Harry's brilliantly coloured eyes were full of light and angelic apathy and patience.

"Well" he demanded sharply, his hand moving towards the angel again, running close enough to Harry's face that he could feel the heat of the other man's skin.

"He needed to realise he was playing with fire," Castiel finally spoke, his voice soft and certain and entirely inhuman. Whatever sharing system Harry and Castiel had going on, it wasn't in action tonight. There was nothing human in Harry's bright gaze, the emerald glass of his eyes were full of burning stars and angelic magnificence and absent of any human flaw or sympathy.

"He didn't need it like this"

"This is what you both have been given" Said Castiel softly, "You don't need it, but you will adapt to it"

Dean's mouth twisted thoughtfully and he glanced over at Castiel, staring at the young, beautiful face of the angel's vessel and looking at the lines of wear that were being etched into his skin and the waxen thinness of flesh. He couldn't help but wonder exactly what the angel had been doing in his absence.

"And what was Harry given? What is he in all this?"

Castiel looked up at intensely from beneath the dark curls of Harry's hair, his eyes placid circles of light. "Harry is broken; he is in pain all the time. His soul is torn and bloody and he screams inside my head constantly, unable to accept what life has given him. He is full of human weakness and illogical emotion." Castiel paused and stared hard at Dean as if he was trying to find something in the odd expression that passed over Dean's features "He is very much like you."

Dean stared at Castiel thoughtfully. "I am nothing like that."

"You are," Castiel said with soft, certain conviction "You are both good men, and you are both broken."

--00—

Sam had clambered back into the front seat a while back.

Not that the conversation was any better than it had been with the angel. His brother was staring blankly out of the window once again, his eyes pale and glazed and his shoulders a curled up barrier between them.

"Look Sam," Dean started hesitantly, waiting until Sam shifted to stare silently at him, his features expectant and miserable. "I know I've been hard on you lately."

"Don't worry about it," Sam started to turn away again and Dean grabbed at his shoulder gently before he could resume his silent contemplation. Sam glanced at his hand with a quirked eyebrow, his tired face soft and thin in the twilight.

"It's just, your psychic mojo thing. It scares the crap out of me."

Sam's jaw clinched and he pulled away, his shoulder bumping against the window in his haste to get away from him. Dean sighed, understanding he had messed up things between them once again but not sure quite how.

"I know, but I can't keep explaining myself to you. I can't make you understand."

Dean didn't think Sam would ever understand how patronising and unfair that sentence was and had to keep his lips tightly pressed together, rubbing the softness of his mouth against his teeth to control his anger. Shouting didn't make things better, especially when it came to Sam; no matter how wrong he thought his brother was.

"Besides," Sam continued, "it doesn't matter anymore. These powers...they're playing with fire. I'm done with them. All of them."

His anger died at that and Dean felt hope smoulder in its place as he stared hard at his brother's fierce, not quite apologetic expression and revel in the worn sincerity of Sam's features.

"Really? That's a relief. Thank you." he tried to smile at his brother, but Sam titled his head away purposely as if he thought Dean didn't know the pain and fear this was igniting in him

"Don't thank me." Sam said quietly, his voice grainy with emotion that sounded a lot like fear but more like anger "I'm not doing this for you or for the angels or for anyone. This is my choice."

Dean was silent as he glanced over at his brother, his gut twisting nervously and he couldn't help but wonder if they had really made as much progress tonight as Castiel had believed.

--00—

Dean didn't sleep much anymore and when he did it wasn't for more than a couple of hours before he jolted in consciousness, pain and fire burning threateningly behind his eyelids, dragging sleep hopelessly away from him.

Sometimes he was surprised Sam didn't notice, but he supposed lately Sam had had enough of his own shit to deal with. Whatever the case he was grateful Sam didn't wake up as he slipped out from the tangled mess of his sheets, uncoiling himself from the ropes of his dreams and padded softly to his brothers computer.

He only hesitated a moment before grabbing the laptop and his mobile and slipping away towards the impala.

He had promised Bobby he wouldn't harm Harry but that didn't mean he wasn't going to find out everything he could about the young man. His flicked his phone open and scrolled through the numbers, pressing it against his ear impatiently for it to connect.

"Hey Ash, I need your help finding some dirt."

* * *

_Okay, so the pairing poll was interesting and is still up if you haven't voted. Ultimately the pairing will be determined based on what fits the story best as some times characters just don't want to paired together. Special nod to IchigoPudding who left many reviews ardently supporting Castiel/Harry pairing and some very good reasons as why this pairing is better than Dean/Harry._

_**Next chapter**. Yellow Fever:- Dean finds out about Harry's past.  
_

_Remember to feed your author, they prefer reviews and appreciation.  
_


	4. Yellow Fever

**Author's notes: **I'm sorry this took so long to post, I've been having a hard time in the real world lately but I hope to have the next chapter up pretty quickly as it's a good one.

**Warnings: **Dean!torture. Unbeta'd

* * *

**--00--Chapter Four—00—**

**Yellow Fever**

After the roadhouse had burnt down, Ash had pretty much left his life as a hunter completely behind him.

He set up his own half hearted business but survived mostly though a number of online bank frauds, happy to live drunk out his skull and alone in a rat infested apartment, blanking out the memories of demons and ghosts and the people that burnt to death in the bar that had been his home.

Dean couldn't really blame him, if things were different; if he had any skills besides hunting he might have opted for the white picket fence existence a long time ago, but it didn't mean that he wasn't sick with jealously as Ash told him that he was going by the name Miles now and didn't want anything to do with demons, or angels or whatever the hell it was that the Winchesters had gotten themselves involved with now.

Dean wondered if Ash blamed him for what had happened to the roadhouse.

"Listen I know this is a lot to ask, but please just this one favour then I won't call you again. Ever,"

"Look Dude..." Ash sighed into the phone. "I don't want demons showing up on my doorstep tomorrow, it's a Sunday."

"They won't, I just need you to find out about this kid. It might be pretty hard though."

There was a pause and then Ash scoffed, "If the kid is real then there is nothing I can't find out about him. Do you have a name for me?"

"Harry Potter,"

"Easy. Give me a day,"

--00—

Except Ash didn't get back to him in a day, in fact Dean didn't hear anything at all from the computer genius for nearly a week and by that point they were up to their elbows, quite literally, in the corpses of men who kept dying apparently from nothing.

"This is a weird one, what causes a man to go from jittery to terrified, to dead in forty eight hours?" Sam asked with a frown, slumping into his dollar suit and pulling at the tie from its stifling position around his neck.

Dean shrugged, "Something scared them to death?"

"Alright, what can do that?"

"What can't? Ghosts, vampires, Chubabca? It could be a hundred things."

Sam gave a familiar sigh and glanced at Dean with eyes full of exasperation which meant he thought Dean was being purposefully obtuse. He was usually correct as well. "Alright, so we make a list and start crossing things off."

Dean shrugged and then paused suddenly, his stomach tight with sudden feeling that he didn't quite understand. "Hang on, hang on."

Sam stopped dead and glanced down, eyebrows knotted in the middle of his forehead with confused worry. "What?"

Dean glanced down the road where the impala had been parked and at the gang of teenage boys that were lazing around in front of his baby, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He opened his mouth slowly and almost managed to put words to the tight feeling in his gut when his phone buzzed into life. He scrambled for the mobile, aware of Sam's confused expression and sent a twisted little smile at his brother before hooking the phone open and pressing it against his ear, gesturing for Sam to continue on.

Sam hesitated, his face still oddly turned up in confusion before his eyes rolled and he strolled away down the street towards the impala and it was only as the teenagers scattered that Dean realised he had been apprehensive, almost scared of a group of spotty kids, half his age and a quarter his size.

"Dean it's Ash."

Dean mumbled back a vague, distracted response.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Oh yeah, sorry, working." Dean fumbled a little awkwardly and pressed the mobile up closer against his head, "Alright, what have you got for me?"

"Harry James Potter; born 31st July, 1980 in Godric's Hollow, Wales. Both parents died less than a year later in suspicious circumstances at same home, their death was never investigated or resolved as far as I can see, it seems like someone erased it from any records and rather successfully. Your boy went to live with his aunt and her family. Petunia and Vernon Dursley and their young son Dudley."

Dean snorted "Dudley, what kind of name is Dudley?"

Ash gave a little sound of amusement as well but it sounded slightly off, tainted. "They were perfectly normal, nothing supernatural here what so ever." There was a pause, "I found some hospital records and a couple of reports from worried teachers but nothing was ever concluded."

"Huh, what?" Dean interrupted and there was another heavy pause that made Dean feel like he shouldn't have to ask and should have just known what Ash was talking about except he didn't.

"There was never a proper investigation, so I can't give you much. But a seven year doesn't usually end up in hospital suffering from dehydration and starvation twice in one summer." Ash gave a small sound of disgust before continuing, "There are a couple more hospital records; broken wrist, fractured collarbone, concussion. Anyway this continues until Harry is eleven, then it's like he disappears off the map. Never seen anything like this before, there is always a trail but here... zip. At least not until he appeared in the good old U.S nearly four years later," Ash paused and chuckled humourlessly, "You know he used to hang out at the roadhouse? A mad ass hunter that should have been dead from all the crazy shit people said he'd pulled. Then he disappears again three years ago and no one's seen or heard from him since. Last person to see him was some random religious nut from Ohio that the police found in Harry's apartment, claiming an angel had brought him there."

Dean sighed, "That's it?"

Ash huffed indignantly down the phone and there was a sound of rustling papers, "There isn't really much to tell and the stuff that might be interesting just doesn't exist. The man is damn good at disappearing and by that I mean literally disappearing. How does a fourteen year old kid get from England to central U.S without taking any form of transport?"

"Alien abduction," Dean stated dully into the phone and Ash hummed almost consideringly.

"There is one thing though," Ash said slowly and then hesitated, "Your dad was the first person to see him in America. I think they stayed in touch. They seemed pretty close, though it's hard to say; hard to get hold of anyone who would be able to say, you know?"

Dean's breath exhaled in one short sharp hiss of betrayal, Bobby had never mentioned his Dad knowing Harry as an adult. "Yeah I understand. Thanks Ash, if you hear anymore, let me know."

"Will do, Dude,"

And that was it, the conversation of Harry's entire life hadn't lasted more than five minutes and Dean wasn't much wiser; Harry's life was full of holes and spaces and dates that didn't add up or make much sense. But the kid was human at least and apparently had known his dad, though Dean couldn't say if that was good or bad thing.

Dean sighed and slumped off down the road to meet up with Sam, ready to get back to figuring out how a man could just drop dead of nothing.

--00—

It was ghost sickness and Dean had it.

Of course Dean had it, apparently only dicks and jerks got it and thinking back on some of the things he had done, Dean was fairly certain they warranted him for that title. But still... not fair.

Sighed he flopped back into the impala and cranked the volume up, hoping it would drown out the increasingly rapid beat of his heart.

"Okay" Sam said, his eyes wide and worried looking as he stood, hunching nervously over Dean, "Some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in houses and started taking them off to funeral homes."

Dean huffed and sat up, tense with anticipation, "Alright but get to the good stuff."

"Symptoms are you get anxious..."

Dean gave a mockingly breathless "yeah," which was sadly not that mocking and just a little bit more real than he would like to admit.

"Then you get scared, then really scared and then you're heart gives out and you die." Sam rattled off and gave an apologetic shrug at Dean's horrified expression.

"But we haven't even seen a ghost in weeks." he argued, aware that his forehead was starting to crinkle up in worry and his heart was thumping against his ribs so hard it was almost painful.

"Well, I doubt you caught it from a ghost. Look, once a spirit infects that first person, Ghost sickness can spread like any sickness through a cough, a handshake, whatever. It's like the flu. Now, Frank O'Brien was the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero."

"Our own outbreak monkey." Dean sighed and then he snapped his head around to stare at Sam, his voice breaking anxiously "So what I've got 48 hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"

"Errr" Sam's mouth twisted up into one of those bent, wonky smiles that meant things weren't funny at all. "More like 24."

"Great... just great"

--00—

Castiel didn't even warn him of his approching presence with the sound of flapping wings this time, so there was no warning as Dean glanced over his shoulder to stare into large, heaven lit green eyes that loomed in his vision almost menacingly.

"Dean."

Dean was fairly certain it was him that released the answering scream. "Jesus Christ," he hissed and had to bend over and press his hands against his chest. "Now is really not the time to be surprising me."

"I apologise" Castiel said softly and if Dean didn't know any better he would have been sure the angel sounded almost amused.

"What do you want." He demanded and sank down back on the motel's lumpy sofa.

Harry's face tilted a little and Castiel's blank apathetic expression wavered into one of mild concern that was so subtle that Dean wasn't sure if it was the angel's or Harry's emotion. Either way he wasn't too fond of the idea of anyone pitying him and huffed a little in irritation, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that should have been intimidating but felt more defensive than anything and probably looked it too judging by the slight frown marring Harry's pale face.

"Do not worry,"

"Don't worry," Dean echoed hollowly and then his voice was crackling out of control with barely suppressed emotion, "I don't know if you missed the memo, but I'm pretty sure the whole point of ghost sickness is to worry."

Harry's green eyes were luminous with something Dean didn't quite understand and for a moment he thought the man was going to say something significent, his lips curled in a second of quivering, hesitant movement before he was snapping back to Castiel's blank, emotionally devoid facade.

"The cat will not hurt you."

Dean was still blinking in utter confusion when Castiel disappeared and it wasn't until later when he was running down the road away from a kitten in a locker that he understood what the angel had been trying to tell him.

He was starting to think maybe angels did have a sense of humour. A warped, evil sense of humour.

--00—

It was Sam who figured it out, of course, but by that point Dean was pretty much off his face; high on a mixture of fear and straight whiskey and he couldn't do much more than follow Sam as they went to the police station to find more about Frank and then to prison to talk to Luther's brother.

Frank, after his wife had gone missing, had decided that it was the fumbling, giant's Luther's fault and had wrapped a chain around the man's neck, hooked it to his truck and hauled the poor bastard up and down the road until he'd been more than dead. Even amidst a haze of smoke black fear, Dean felt himself wincing in sympathy for the man. Luther hadn't hurt anyone; the only thing the man had been guilty of was looking too big, too scary for the narrow minded masses.

"The woodchips you've been throwing up, the marks on your arms" Sam gestured with a pinched expression at Dean's torn up forearm, "You're experiencing Luther's death in slow motion."

Dean wobbled drunkenly on his feet and almost managed a grimace of dark humour, "Well not slow enough. Let's burn some bones and get me healthy."

"Dean it won't be that easy" Sam's voice was all hesitant whispers but it didn't stop Dean's heart from palpitating in, gut churning, nauseating fear. "Luther was road hauled. His body was ripped to pieces. He was probably scattered all over that road. There's no way we're gonna find all the remains."

"You're kidding me?" Dean's forehead wrinkled up again and Sam stared at him wide eyed with worry and pity, his hands reached out slowly as if he thought Dean was about to faint or something

"Look we'll find some other way."

Dean huffed and then suddenly stopped just next to the impala and gestured angrily at Sam, "You know what screw this. What are we doing?!"

"Whoa. What? Dean?" Sam was doing that hand thing again, edging closely and raising his hands, palms open wide in a gesture Dean didn't quite understand beneath the growing haze of fear. "We're hunting a ghost"

"A ghost, exactly! Who does that?" Dean stumbled a little, either alcohol or fear making his legs bend in unusual and muscle-less ways.

"Us." Sam answered blandly.

"Us? Right. And that Sam, that is exactly why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt monsters! What the hell?!" Dean arms made a gesture that was similar to a windmill, but he pretended not to notice which was surprisingly easy, fear apparently made him good at being oblivious, "I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, no, no, we -- we search out things that want to kill us. Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We...are insane!"

Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean waved to interrupt him and would have paced if he could have made his jelly legs move, instead he just stumbled a little and settled for shouting and waving his arms wildly for emphasis.

"And then there's the bad diner food and then the skeevy motel rooms and then that truck-stop waitress with the bizarre rash. I mean, who wants this life, Sam? Huh? Seriously? Do you actually like being stuck in a car with me eight hours a day, every single day? I don't think so! I mean, I drive too fast and I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, and I sing along. I'm annoying, I know that. And you --you're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic! I mean, you know what?" He tossed Sam the keys and stuck out a finger towards the point he thought was about level with his brother's chest, though it was only a guess because he couldn't see too well anymore. "You can forget it!"

Dean didn't listen for Sam's reply as he wobbled off down the street.

--00—

Dean only vaguely heard Sam explain to him his plan to save him.

He didn't hear Bobby's arrival at all.

The hallucinations had started and it was pretty much all down hill from there.

--00--

The hallucination progressed quickly.

Sam had explained then to him but it didn't really prepare Dean for the reality of it, it was the last leg of the ghost sickness rollercoaster he supposed and in a way he was almost relieved, or he would have been if he didn't know that what waited for him after death was a hell of a lot worse than anything the ghost sickness could come up with.

The hallucinations started off with clocks wavering and pictures moving but then it was Sam and Ruby. Sam with his freaky mojo powers and his eyes that swam like bright demon yellow light bulbs, full of evil and telling Dean how much he hated him and how he couldn't wait for him to go back to hell and leave him alone. Dean almost broke just from that.

He had lucid moments but they were disappearing in between the periods of intense, mind numbing fear and Dean found himself curled up, his muscles spasming with tension as he watched the clock tick away his remaining time, his fear leaving no hope that Sam and Bobby would be able to save him.

Waiting to die the second time was a hell of lot worse than the first, he thought bitterly.

"Hello Dean"

Dean clutched the motel bible against his face, clinging onto it and pressing his cheek into the leather even as a sound of panicked fear escaped through his lips. If there was one hallucination he hadn't wanted it was this.

Lilith's blonde child meat suit grinned almost innocently up at him and threw herself against him, wrapping tiny, seemingly fragile limbs around him in a mockery of love. "Oh I missed you so much" she mumbled into his back and then uncoiled herself to perch on the bed next to him, her dress too bright and too innocent for the dark expression that painted over her face in a movement too quick to register. "It's time to go back now"

Dean shuddered away from her, "You're not real" his voice wavered and his teeth rattled in skull. He was barely able to hear her reply over the sudden rush of blood that flooded his head.

"What's the matter Dean, don't you remember all the fun you had down there? You do remember. Four months is like forty years in hell. Like doggy years. And you remember every second" Lilith's voice was as high as a child but her words were full of knives and promises and she wavered in a blur of ballerina pink tulle and the bleached white of demon eyes , her face full of the promise of death.

His heart was suddenly laced with a thousand needles of pain and Dean could only grasp at chest as he stumbled to the floor, his muscles spasming and his knees buckling.

The room disappeared for a moment in a spinning whirl of colour that was threaded with the black of unconsciousness and Dean felt himself sprawl gracelessly in a painful lump onto the floor, his heart thumping and shuddering in warning.

"Dean"

Lilith's face was peering down at him, her bleached eyes washed green for a moment before flashing back to the stark high-demon white he remembered. "Dean, this isn't real" she said with the same, threatening, hollow tone and sank down next to him, her skirts unfurling in a puff of smoky-lace around her.

"Not real" Dean mouthed back and shuddered as she reached out towards him, her hands calloused and oddly large as they held him face.

"Dean it's me, she's not here. Look at me properly."

The edges of Lilith's face seemed to suddenly become liquid and her hair was drenched in a sharp sweeping cloak of shadow. The transformation continued until Dean was able to make out Harry's familiar sharp cheekbones and his dark curls that bobbed over the wide, melted emerald of his eyes.

Dean had never been so grateful to see the colour green in his life.

"Cas?" he gasped and Harry's lips curled up slightly, in a surprisingly soft expression that made the boy's face seem full of hazy golden light. His eyelashes fanned out in a dark curl of feathers that brushed across his cheeks as he stared down at Dean with eyes were full of stars and sunlight and angelic protection.

"I'm watching over you," Castiel murmured gently and Dean was surprised to feel Harry's hand running with almost hesitant tenderness through the short spikes of his hair. "No harm shall come to you while we are here."

"I'm dying." Dean croaked and shuddered as Harry reposition him, lifting him until his head was rested on the soft material of Harry's threadbare jeans. His heart pounded a little at his sudden confession as if by voicing his worries it made it more real and Dean found Harry's face wavering a little, the bright, sun lit green of his eyes fading.

"You will not die." Castiel responded with familiar heavenly conviction and pressed his hand on the handprint scar that was curled up across Dean's shoulder. A spark of electricity ran through Harry's hand and made the tender scar dance with feeling. "I have dragged you out of hell once, we will not let you go again,"

Dean couldn't remember anything that had ever made him feel as safe as the shock that passed through his angel scar and grasped awkwardly at Harry's shirt, hating himself for what he was about to ask. "Please, please don't leave me alone."

"We will not leave you alone."

Dean shuddered in Harry's hands, feeling his muscles give a painful spasm once again and when he tried to speak his voice was a painful dry whisper, "We?"

"Me and Castiel."

--00—

Bobby and Sam had raced back to the motel after exorcising Luther's ghost.

It had been so close and they had needed to make sure Dean was okay. He had been hallucinating something awful when they had left, unable to see them and fighting against something, begging and clawing at hands that weren't really there to fight.

It made Sam physically sick to his usually strong brother so weak. Dean was in a way indestructible to him and lately, watching his older brother with his nightmares and his almost obsessive drinking had been a constant tearing down of all those illusions he had built up. In a way Sam didn't want to face them, preferring to ignore it all.

But this was too close and it was with his heart pressed in a lump of unmoving rock against his ribs that he fumbled his way into the motel room, Bobby's hand; a comforting warmth on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

"He is asleep."

Castiel was sat stiffly in the middle of the floor, a sprawled and unconscious Dean half curled across his lap, his brother's hands fisted almost desperately into the thin material of Harry's shirt. Harry's bright, back lit eyes glanced up and stared at them unblinkingly and Sam felt more than heard Bobby's hiss of breath and probably answered with one of his own, though he was sure they were caused by different things.

"What..." Sam trailed off and frowned at what was quite possibly one of the oddest sights he'd ever seen. "Is he okay?"

There was a moment of hesitation, Sam could see it in the slight twitch that the muscles of Harry's neck made but when the angel spoke it was with heaven's apathetic certainty. "He will be well when he wakes up."

Castiel was like a stiff doll as tried to escape from Dean's sleepily possessive grip but his thin hands were oddly gently as he unfurled Dean's tense fingers.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked quietly, his brow furrowed in nervous hesitation, Ruby's words about Harry still echoing around his ears.

"I promised we would not leave him alone" Castiel answered simply and disappeared in a hollow flutter of wings.

Sam didn't mention anything to Dean when he woke up though, from the way Dean's hand twitched to reach out to something as he swam back to consciousness, he didn't think he needed to.

But he had to wonder when Castiel had gotten so human.

* * *

_A lot of people mentioned that Ash was dead. Well it was never specifically stated that Ash was dead, only implied and I've heard he shall be returning to the supernatural world so I'm really just ahead of Canon. If not, I don't care, I love Ash almost as much as Bobby._

_Yellow Fever is one of my favourite supernatural episodes, if you haven't seen it go and watch it, it's hilliarous. That scream is pure win; you know the one I'm talking about._

_**Next chapter:-** It's the great pumpkin Sam Winchester - John finally returns. _

**_Reviews are always wanted and will be loved and looked after._**


	5. It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

**Author's note**: Long chapter. It's unbeta'd, but I just wanted to get this up for you all.

**Warning:** none

* * *

—**00—Chapter Five—00—**

**It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester**

Dean stared at Castiel.

The small man was sat on the balcony his legs dangling stiffly over the edge and his hair fluttering and curling like waves around his face. He was a small block of black against the pastel wash of twilight and Dean thought he had never looked so human, silhouetted against the untouched backdrop.

"What are you doing here?"

He hadn't seen or spoken to the angel since he had fallen asleep, clinging to the boy like a pathetic girl and begging him not to leave and had been beginning to think the angel would never show up again. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. In a way he didn't want Harry's presence but that would be oversimplifying how tangled the web of emotion the angel and vessel caused.

Castiel glanced at him over the sharp edge of his shoulder, his star lit eyes taking in Dean's form before turning away to face the moon. "Harry likes to be in high places" the angel said softly and something flickered across his face; a terrible yearning that Dean thought had nothing to do with Castiel at all. "It reminds him of better times"

Dean hesitated before sliding onto the stone ledge, his skin growing hot in fear as he swung his legs over the drop. He was scared of heights but death had taken the edge off nearly everything and even his most fierce mortal fears dimmed in comparison to his memories.

"You know him, inside." It was more of a statement that a question, because after the last time he had seen the angel he had been pretty convinced there was more to Castiel's actions that just angelic apathy.

Castiel nodded slowly, a frown marring Harry's delicate features. "Yes. Unlike my other vessels Harry is still conscious and aware. He is fond of you Dean Winchester." Castiel glanced at Dean once again, his pale face a contrast of edges of light and pools of shadow. "It is not an easy possession for either of us. Harry's... Harry's humanity is tainting me"

Dean scowled at the angels words, "Humanity isn't a poison, Cas"

Castiel shrugged and it was a gesture of such forced apathy that Dean almost understood him, "It is for Angels"

Dean stared at him silently, watching as the light filtered across Harry's too thin face. The man seemed to have lost weight since the last time he'd seen him, his cheekbones were butter-knife sharp beneath his skin and the lines of his jaw looked almost cruel without the softness of extra flesh. He looked ill.

"Dean. Bad things are about to happen. Do not doubt yourself" Castiel said quietly, his gaze locked unwaveringly in iced shards of emerald on the horizon, "and try not to think too badly of us."

Dean wasn't surprised when he disappeared.

--00—

Bobby had been long gone by the time Dean had woken up and Dean had been too grateful and too hurt to demand answers from the older hunter right away about the connection between his dad and Harry. But Castiel's odd visit made his insides clench nervously and he decided to call the man before they were swallowed up whole in another case of ghosts and demons and things that wanted to kill them.

"Singer."

"Bobby?" Dean asked slowly, glancing out of the motel window in anticipation for Sam's return. His brother had disappeared some time ago on yet another one of his mysterious walks and Dean wasn't sure he wanted Sam to hear this conversation.

"Dean? You sound better than last time I saw you," Bobby drawled, dark humour obvious in his voice.

"Yeah, well ghost sickness does crazy things to a man." he quirked back.

"Well at least you're very own angel teddy bear to cry into." Bobby's teasing was almost humorous and Dean would have responded with automatic, sarcastic indignation if it wasn't for the bitter edge to Bobby's voice that was sharp with memories and unpleasant thoughts, reminding Dean how tangled and unfair the situation they had all found themselves in was.

Dean sighed, "Actually that's why I'm calling. You see, I did some digging about Harry."

Bobby was carefully silent at the other end of the phone, his breathing quiet whispers of hollow emotion and Dean couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been preparing himself for this conversation.

"Bobby, why didn't you tell me my dad kept in touch with Harry? Was he as close to him as you?"

"Dean," Bobby exhaled heavily, his voice so weary it hurt to listen to. "I didn't tell you because there are some things you probably don't want to know about."

"What the hell does that mean? This is my Dad!" Dean snarled and felt the same familiar tug of pain at his heart whenever he thought about his dad and the sacrifice his dad had made to save his life. His anger at Bobby was sharp and hollow and entirely unfair, but it was easier to feel angry at Bobby for not telling him of the connection between his father and Harry, than to feel hurt that his Dad hadn't trusted him with the same thing.

"Yeah, and so what?" Bobby huffed back, his voice rising and crackling down the line. "You've painted this rose tinted view of your Daddy, made him out to be a saint or a hero ever since he died. But he wasn't, Dean, and you damn well know it. John Winchester was a flawed, selfish, pig headed bastard and he made a lot of mistakes in his life. Harry was just another one of the many people he hurt, messed the kid up to hell and back and kept taking and taking until there was nothing left to give. I didn't mention it because I was trying to protect you, idjit."

"Don't you talk about him that way!" he hissed but Bobby's words had hit him a little too hard, John hadn't been a perfect man, Dean knew his father had faults and sins, but problem was, Dean didn't care, he loved the man too much.

"Grow up," Bobby snapped back but then sighed a little and there was a pause of hesitant, bitter silence. "You remind me of Harry, both of you completely blind to John Winchester's faults."

Dean didn't have time to respond before Bobby had hung up on him, rather effectively stopping their conversation and the jumble of questions it had evoked in him.

He was getting sick of Bobby hanging up on him.

--00—

Dean hated witches.

They freaked him the fuck out. Unlike demons and ghosts and werewolves they weren't predictable, they weren't confined to patterns and rules, they were messy and emotional and human and it made them dangerous.

"I hate witches," he moaned, fingering the hex bags and starring at the charred bones of infants with sickening disgust.

Sam hummed and bent over his laptop, Dean didn't think for even a moment that his brother was really listening to him. Sam was too busy researching and until Dean dragged him away from his computer Sam would just made noises that other people mistook for interest.

"I mean, I don't get it what does razor blade guy and boiled cheerleader have to connect them? They're both squeaky clean. There is no reason for wicked bitch payback."

Sam uncurled himself from his hunched-researching position and ran a hand thoughtfully across the back of his neck. "Maybe this witch isn't working a grudge. Maybe it's a spell. Check this out" Sam said and gestured Dean over to his laptop and read out a tattered book: "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st".

"Halloween. That's tomorrow." Dean said, feeling a headache starting to spark into life beneath the pinched skin around his eyes, "Okay what does this spell do?"

"Well if I'm right; the witch is trying to raise a demon. But not just any demon; Samhain."

Dean shrugged, "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

From Sam's little scoff of irritation he guessed the correct answer was yes. "Dean, Samhain is the damn origin of Halloween. The Celts believe that October 31st was the one night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, and it was Samhain's night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

Dean sighed and plucked the book from Sam's hands, running his eyes over pages of too graphic details of blood and gore and carnage. "Well it sure looks like a lot of death and destruction for just one demon."

"That's because Samhain, once he's raised, can do some rising of his own." Sam stared at him hard eyed and brow furrowed and Dean knew he should be scared, or at least apprehensive but just felt tired and irritated and huffed a response out wearily.

"Raise what?"

"Ghosts, ghouls, demons, zombies" Sam listed slowly, "Evil things follow him around like the piped piper."

Dean hummed, "Leprechauns?"

"Dean-!"

Dean smirked at him with mock seriousness, "What those things are creepy." He stood up and slapped the book against Sam's chest gently, giving an overdramatic shudder and wriggling his fingers at Sam, "little hands."

Sam shook his head in exasperation but Dean was pleased to see him looking at least a little less serious as they went to find their witch.

Except it wasn't as simple as he thought, because witches were still just human and that made everything messy.

--00—

Dean's neck prickled moments before they stepped back into the motel room.

It was the only warning he got of the angels' presence and he barely managed to catch up Sam as his brother stormed into their room, brandishing his gun threatening.

"Sam," he called out hurriedly, "It's Castiel."

Sam's eyes flickered down to Harry's small, unmoving form and the muscles in his back unlocked, his arms flopping down at his sides "We've met."

Dean really didn't want his brother in the same room as angels he realised as he stepped next to Sam, his gaze searching Harry's face to try and establish how much Castiel he was dealing with and how much Harry was there to temper the angel's blank apathy. Castiel's emotionless, heaven lit magnificence beamed blindingly out of Harry's thin face and Dean winced a little in anticipation. It only got worse when he finally noticed there was another figure, turned away from then and standing unmoving at the far end of their motel room, outlined by sharp shafts of sunlight that emphasised his dark skin and crisp clothes.

"Who's your friend?" he asked Castiel, gesturing with a sharp nod towards the looming figure behind Harry.

Harry's green eyes darkened slightly, and his forehead bunched a little before Castiel's heavenly emptiness overwhelmed him. It was all Castiel that spoke to them after that. "The rising of Samhain, have you stopped it? Have you located the witch?"

"Well no..." Sam stumbled to interrupted, scuffing his feet awkwardly.

"But we know who the witch is." Dean finished, hoping it would be enough for the angels. The dark man behind Castiel huffed in bleak amusement and Dean decided right there he didn't like him.

"Apparently the witch knows who you are too." Castiel said slowly and uncurled his hand to offer out another hex bag to Dean. "I found this in the wall. If we hadn't found it, one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

Dean and Sam exchanged uneasy glances and Harry's eyes narrowed at their expressions, the thin slits of green burning too bright in his pale face. "This is unfortunate. The rising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

Dean scowled, oddly hurt. "So this is about your buddy Lucifer?"

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." The dark figure growled; his voice was a low rumble of thunder that just promised heavenly retribution and Dean really, really didn't like him, especially when he finally turned round and swept his contempt filled over eyes over Sam and oddly enough Castiel. "Enough of this."

The man moved surprisingly lightly for a big guy and it was only when he stopped next to Harry's painfully slender form did Dean realise how physically imposing he was. The man was all but glowing with angelic possession; the whites of his eyes gleamed almost demon white against the midnight smooth skin of his face and hands were spades of flesh that curled threatening at Dean's stare. Harry wasn't glowing like that.

"This is Uriel. He is what you would call a... specialist." Castiel supplied softly, his eyes burning with intense meaning in Dean's direction, and Dean couldn't help but think he was missing something Castiel was trying to tell him.

"What kind of specialist?"

Uriel's smile was full of sharp teeth and deadly intention and his gaze flickered over to Harry's tiny form with a face darkened by emotion that made the shadows smear and paint their way across his skin. "We're going to destroy the town."

Harry's shiver of disgust was almost unnoticeable and Dean might not have even had seen it if it wasn't for the way Uriel's eyes were trained and burning on his companion and again he felt like he was missing something.

"You can't!" exclaimed Sam immediately, "There are a thousand innocent people living here!"

"One thousand, two hundred fourteen." Uriel corrected; his voice cold, but his eyes diluted and pulsated darkly with the sick pleasure Dean had previously only associated with demons.

Sam gave a pained grunt and started into a shocked horrified conversation with Uriel and Dean would have helped but his eyes were locked with Harry's. It was like watching a battle rage behind a thin mirror of green; Dean could see the war between the angel and the man. Harry

's face was marble consistency but his eyes shifted colour and intensity, even the pupils shuddered in response and the whites of his eyes seemed to strain and glaze as the internal battle raged.

"Cas?"

"Enough." Castiel interrupted and both Sam and Uriel snapped around to stare at him silently. Sam was speechless in horror and Uriel in barely hidden anger.

Green eyes peered up from beneath the too long curls of Harry's hair and Dean felt like he was again missing half of what Castiel or Harry was trying to convey to him. "I suggest you hurry and find this witch."

Dean didn't miss Uriel's expression of unadulterated rage, or the way Harry's eyes flickered up at the taller angel, narrowed and smouldering with unspoken defiance.

--00—

Sam's face crumpled.

"They weren't what I expected. I thought angels were meant to merciful, not dicks."

Dean hummed in sympathy and stared at Sam's lost, miserable expression. He hated seeing his brother hurt but it never stopped to amaze him how oddly hopeful he had to be to get hurt in the first place.

"Don't give up on them yet, Sammy" he replied softly and reversed the Impala down the road with enough speed to make her hum lovingly beneath them.

When he glanced back up Sam had tilted his head to look at him, his expression shadowed and entirely unreadable. "I guess so."

--00—

"You are pushing it Castiel."

"You know what Dean wished for."

"We should drag Dean Winchester kicking and screaming from here. I don't care what he wishes for."

"I do."

"And that is why they're going to destroy you and that abomination of a vessel."

--00—

They didn't manage to stop Samhain from rising.

Dean didn't know why they even tried sometimes, everything they did was just a little too late, too weak, too everything and it seemed they were losing all the battles that mattered at the moment. It was only pure luck and Sam's smarts that was keeping them alive and Dean couldn't help but wonder which of those things would break first as they raced after the demon.

"So this demon's pretty powerful. It might take more than the usual weapons." Sam interrupted him slowly, cautiously; peering over at him, with eyes that were wide with sincerity and emphasis.

"Sam, no" Dean hissed, his eyes flickering to stare into Sam's blood smeared face, "You are not using your physic whatever. Don't even think about it. Use Ruby's knife."

"Why?"

Dean was sure his brother had meant to sound fierce and demanding and all that other manly crap but instead he just sounded like a child, blindly questioning the adults around him with utter bewilderment about his actions. It made Dean's heart clench.

"Well for one, the angels said-"

"I don't know Dean" Sam cut in softly, "it doesn't seem they're right about much. They wanted to completely destroy a town."

If Dean hesitated at that he didn't let Sam notice it, "Forget about the angels then but you said it yourself. These powers they're like playing with fire. Remember?"

He picked up Ruby's knife; finding an odd comfort in the heavy weight of the wooden handle and the shimmer of the metal with its craved markings that shone black against silver. He flipped it around and held the handle out to Sam, staring beseechingly up at his brother's frowning, closed off face. "Please."

Sam didn't say anything but he took the knife and for a moment Dean thought it was going to be okay.

--00—

Zombies stunk.

It only made sense, what with all the rotting flesh and everything but Dean would have rather taken the great big, evil Samhain over a locked room full of moulding corpses any day. Sam always got the nice jobs.

A fist struck out at him, hitting him hard enough to send him flying across the room and into a thin limbed woman. Her face peeled off in layers like an onion as they tumbled together to the floor and her breath smelt of death as she gasped and twisted over him.

"Ugh." Dean scrambled away in disgust and stabbed the woman through with a metal spike, locking her to floor where she withered and spasmed like a pinned up butterfly, her flayed skin as fine and translucent as wings that slithered and fell in chunks around her.

Dean turned away and slipped past the next zombie towards the entrance to the crypt, wondering desperately where he'd throw his other metal stake as the man advanced sluggish, his boneless leg dragging behind him.

The glint of metal sent him diving in the corridor and he scrambled for the spike, spinning around and expecting to be faced with a horde of Zombies.

What he actually saw was worse.

Sam was facing off the Samhain just beyond the border of the next room, his hand outstretched and harsh, gulping shudders racking his body as his powers pulsated through him. Samhain was stood unmoving and wide eyed in shock, black demon smoke dragged out and curling from his mouth, falling to the ground in rolls of pure demon. The marble beneath Samhain's vessel burnt and smouldered as the demon was sent back to hell, leaving a ring of black ash.

Sam gasped in pain and clutched at his head, his knees almost buckling as the last of the demon burnt.

"Sam."

Sam spun around, defiance and guilt racing in a battle across his features and blood trickling out of his nostrils till it painted his top lip in a smear of colour. Sam's pupils were too blown large and too dark and Dean felt all that stupid hope wither into sharp, betrayed anger as the scene that had just taken place.

Dean had to look away as his brother's tongue darted out to taste his own blood.

--00--

The morning was fresh and full of sunlight.

Dean had been sat silently watching the playground for hours, taking comfort in the lives they had saved, enjoying the innocence of children that screamed in delight around him because there wasn't much else for him to take from this experience at all.

He didn't have words for Sam's actions. He didn't even have much feeling left if he was honest; most of his anger towards his brother was hollow these days, everything felt pretty hollow actually. He felt like he'd left something behind in the pit and had come back too different, too defeated and broken to ever be the same person again. He was a car running on fumes, waiting for the final gasp of life to be sucked out of his in a billow of smoke and he just didn't have the energy to keep fighting Sam. Didn't want to.

He didn't hear Castiel appear, didn't really need to.

"Why are you here? I failed." Dean asked slowly.

"I'm not here to judge you." Castiel's voice was calm as he lowered himself almost tentatively onto the bench next to Dean, awkwardly folding Harry's thin limbs in towards his torso. "Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain but to do what you told us."

Dean glanced over a little surprised, staring in the half lidded profile of the man next to him, "Your orders were to follow my orders?"

"Yes. I was praying you would choose to save this town."

Dean nodded slowly, Castiel sullen intensity in the motel room suddenly made a lot more sense. He had thought that maybe Harry hadn't agreed with the angel's and was fighting for control, but maybe Castiel was just a little more human than he let on.

"I'm guessing Uriel wasn't praying for that, huh?"he asked slowly, thinking back on the other angel's unmasked irritation, "he didn't seem to happy with you."

Castiel turned to look at him, a frown marring his forehead and his eyes bright with heavenly light that was shadowed by the troubled crease of his brow. "Uriel obeys the will of our Father" he stated firmly before glancing away thoughtfully, "he doesn't approve of my vessel."

"Huh? What's not to like about your vessel?"

A small sound of amusement seemed to escape Castiel and the angel bowed forward a little, his body still strung tight as he stared downward, his hair sliding in a curling curtain across his features, hiding himself from Dean's gaze. "Harry is an unusual vessel."

"Yeah, you've said that already, he doesn't sleep. More crypt angel talk" Dean said impatiently and reached forward to give Harry's forehead a tap through his hair, Harry's skin was feverish beneath his fingers and Dean almost flinched away from the heat of it. He wondered if all angels burnt that hot in their vessels.

Castiel titled his head slightly and stared up at Dean hesitantly, almost considering. "Harry says I should talk to you more, but that I should use plain English because you have the attention span of a five year old." Castiel frowned a little at that, his confusion oddly clear on his usually passive features.

Dean chuckled a little, "He seems like a man of great intelligence."

"He is of above average intelligence," Castiel admitted passively, obviously not quite understanding that Dean had been joking and that made Dean smile a little more because sometimes dealing with Castiel was like dealing with someone without any social skills what so ever, except with the power to kill him with a glance which wasn't quite so funny.

"Human emotion is not something I have ever experienced. I am not sure I am meant to, Uriel does not like my vessel because Harry makes it easier to feel and to understand these feelings. He thinks I am being corrupted." Castiel sighed and Dean didn't think he sounded too happy about it. "Emotion causes doubt. Doubts cause questions. I don't know what is right and wrong anymore. I don't know what the right decision here was, if you have failed or passed this test. Angels don't doubt."

Dean sighed, "Humans do."

Castiel glanced back up him, eyes burning bright with stars and heaven and the beginnings of anger. "I am not human."

"You're possessing one though," Dean countered and poked Harry's thin chest for emphasis. Harry was ridges and hollows beneath his hand, burning hell fire hot which was probably lucky considering he was only wearing a thin t-shirt and jeans.

"That's what Harry said." Castiel looked up into the sky; his eyes, circles of bottle green glass that held reflected fragments of the sun and a thousand untouchable thoughts of angelic origin. Finally he stood up and glanced back down at Dean, his face smoothed out to familiar, untouched apathy. "Bobby's waiting at the motel,"

Dean felt his insides clench at that, wondering what could be so important that Bobby had decided to meet them in person instead of just speaking over the phone.

--00—

"Boys, I think I just saw your father."

Bobby was slumped against the wall of their motel room, narrowed eyed and hollow cheeked. It wasn't obvious, because nothing with Bobby ever was but Dean hadn't seen the man so spooked since the rising of the witnesses. With Bobby it was all about the things he didn't say or do and his slumped, frozen position was enough for Dean to realise how much this had affected the older hunter.

"Demon?" Dean asked automatically.

Bobby shook his head and licked at his lips, "That's what I thought, except he was hunting. Throwing metal and salt and all kinds of stuff into to his trunk and driving off with that same, obsessive gleam in his eyes."

Sam who had had been silent since Dean had returned gave a noise of irritation and stood up, shoulders hunched and tense. "So it's a shapeshifter. Let's just get some silver and go after it. You didn't need to come all the way here Bobby."

"What's eating your goat?" Bobby peered up at Sam thoughtfully from beneath the rim of his hat. "I wasn't even going to tell you two, except this is where the bastard led me."

"So he's after us?"Dean asked and sighed "Great, just great. As if our lives couldn't get any more complicated."

Sam's eyes were dark and boring into his back and Dean wasn't quite sure what that meant but he doubted it was anything good. He wondered what had happened to his brother while he was gone but didn't really have the energy to ask.

"Alright let's get our stuff and go kill this thing." Dean ordered and started to throw stakes and guns into his duffle-bag. The bag had been his dad's.

"Dean."

"Jesus!" Bobby spluttered and Dean didn't even need to glance over to know that Castiel had appeared, immobile and intense behind them. "Does he always do that?"

"Yeah, apparently angels can't knock" Dean retorted and threw the duffle over his shoulder, turning to face the angel's shadowed face. If it was possible, Harry looked like he'd lost ten pounds since the last time he'd seen him and that had only been minutes ago. "Look Cas, we're a little busy right now, so if you can-"

"He's real." Castiel interrupted and his shoulders seemed to slump weakly at his own words, drawing in on himself like a barrier which was probably quite appropriate considering the haze of rage that flickered across Dean's vision in a red, painful haze. "This is the real John Winchester."

"What? How? We saw him die!" Sam demanded, flailing wildly and advancing towards them in stumbling, bewildering steps.

"My dad is alive." Dean repeated slowly, and the bag dropped from his hands, landing with a thump onto the floor, "My dad is alive and you knew this and didn't tell me?"

Sam was at his shoulder, looming just as menacing over Harry's gaunt form, words spluttering out of him like bullets. Castiel wavered before them, his forehead knotted and his mouth draw tight into a line of too bright red, his eyes darted in slivers of iced green over at Bobby before meeting Dean's gaze. "We did not think it was important."

Bobby made a noise of bitter incredulity behind them but Dean didn't really hear, his arm shoot out automatically and his hand coiled and curled around Harry's arm, forgetting for a minute he was clinging onto an angel. "You didn't think it was important?"

"Angel's aren't just jerks, they're cruel" Sam hissed and picked up Dean's duffle bag, throwing it over his shoulder with jerking movements of barely suppressed anger. "Take us to our Dad"

"He's hunting," Castiel responded, oddly toneless even for him and refused to look up. His eyes were drawn to the place where Dean's hand was gripped his arm, holding so tight that his skin was bloodless and white and waiting to blossom with bruises.

"I don't care! Take me to him now!" Dean hissed and shook the smaller man, or tried to; the angel was unmoving in his grip and seemed to be made of steel in his hands suddenly. Harry stared up at him, his face shadowed, "Please."

Dean spotted the moment when all aspects of Harry disappeared, he could see the man withdrawing into his head; the dim, crackling presence of humanity dimmed from his face and Castiel's angelic apathy painted itself blinding and untouchable across Harry's pale face, his eyes electric green with sudden brilliance.

"Okay, Dean." Castiel said slowly, his voice deep and gravelly and for a moment Dean thought he saw anger, true anger that didn't have anything to do with Harry's influence at all staring out at him.

Dean hand tightened around Harry's arm, "You're coming with us."

--00--

The demon screamed as light flickered through its chest in a series of electrical currents, illuminating its skeleton before it crumbled to the floor with a final gasp of life. Dean hissed in relief and looked forward to see who had rescued them.

His father stared back at his inquisitive eyes.

Fog curled and rubbed like a cat around his ankles and his familiar features were half shadowed in the billows of demon smoke and gun powder. It was John Winchester all right, Dean had spent his entire life watching and shadowing the man and his face, with its hard eyes and thin mouth set in obsessed determination was burnt in his eyelids. He hadn't aged a day since the last time Dean had seen him and that had been when he'd wrapped up his corpse and set it on fire; a hunter's funeral.

"Dad?" he breathed and John's eyes met his. His breath caught in his throat and he stumbled forward, away from Sam's immobile warmth.

John's eyes widened as well and his gun went slack and fell against the dew covered grass and he stepped forward and Dean almost didn't realise he wasn't looking at them in his own blinding desperation. Their father hadn't noticed Bobby or even his sons; his wide, shocked eyes were locked on the small, figure behind them.

"Harry?"

The name was said in such a way that Dean knew, knew there was something there, something more than a passing acquaintance or even a long distant friendship. He didn't know what, but there was a raw edged familiarity in his father's voice, the type that was coated with emotion and memories and pain; and he flinched at the depths of it, feeling like he was intruding on something and knowing exactly what his father would find in those sun lit, heavenly eyes.

"Hello John Winchester" Castiel's voice was cold, almost icy and Dean wondered if it was entirely the angel speaking. If not it seemed something about John sparked feeling into the usually emotionless being.

John was still moving forward, half floating through the smoke, his feet fumbling over the other and he caught himself by bracing his hands on Harry's slender arms, his blood coated fingers painting the boy's angelically illuminated skin. His grip was harsh enough to leave bruises blossoming in petals of violet but Castiel simply stared patiently up at him and it seemed to infuriate his father.

"Dad, that's not..."

Sam shushed him but it was enough and their father turned sharply, his eyes wild as he took them in and then he glanced back at Harry. Dean could only see the edges of his dad's face and didn't understand the emotion that smeared ugly and violent across the man's face before he spun around and folded him and Sam against him.

"My boys" He mouthed into Dean's skin, his stubble rubbing like sandpaper against his neck as his hands gripped into their clothes. Sam shuddered faintly against him.

It was reminiscent of the hugs John used to give them when they children, smothering them against him until they struggled to breath and felt as if nothing could possible hurt them ever again. It didn't feel like that now and Dean mourned the loss of comfort silently.

"John. This is Castiel; the angel"

Bobby interrupted softly and yet again there was history echoing in his voice and Dean didn't understand what it all meant as John stared back at the old hunter, his eyes echoing the same grief.

"I knew that thing wasn't Harry the moment I looked into his eyes" John hissed and his hate filled eyes slid over to Harry's unmoving body, "Might as well be a demon"

Castiel eyes flashed brilliant green for a moment before fading back to the star lit glow and he glanced at Dean, Harry's features made tense and tight in an expression of unrealised pain before he disappeared.

The sound of feathers echoed across the swamp

* * *

_Ash is by the way definitely returning sometime late season five. Whoo. I'd like to pimp out Mumford and Sons while I'm here; I'm pretty sure the entire album was written while watching supernatural.  
_

_**Next chapter: Wishful Thinking**- Dean finally realises the nature of Harry and his Dad's relationship and John finds out what saved him from the pit.  
_

_**Review please.  
**_


	6. Wishful Thinking

**Author's note:** enjoy.

**Warnings**: mentions of a sexual relationship between two men, swearing and angst for everyone.

* * *

—**00—Chapter Six—00—**

**Wishful Thinking**

The Winchester reunion was about a ten on a scale of one to awkward.

But then Dean hadn't expected anything else. He wasn't too good with words, John wasn't so good with emotions and Sammy had long since passed the helpful-childish-mediator-phase and was instead a hesitant, fumbling giant of insecurity and old, smouldering resentment.

They were lucky Bobby was there.

The older hunter, herded them all back to the motel and was cracking open beer cans before the first word was even spoken. Dean felt warm affection for the man blossom up through his chest and grinned up at him as he took the beer, coiling his hand slowly around the warm aluminium.

"Thanks Bobby,"

Bobby smiled crookedly back and for a moment rested his hand, all calluses and dry skin against the fluttering pulse of Dean's wrist. "It's alright, boy."

"Dad?" Sam started softly, folding himself down next to Dean and staring at their father, "How are you... here?"

John eyes flickered up from over the rim of his beer and he slurped at the metal thoughtfully, "I don't know. I died and then I was in hell," he paused and his face shadowed over with a thousand familiar memories of torture and blood and hellfire and Dean shuddered in shared pain. "And then I was back; alive and whole and stark naked in the middle of a field."

Bobby chuckled a bit at that but Dean was too busy focusing on the band on of burnt, puffy flesh that was red raw and circling his father's wrist like a manacle.

"Dad" He said slowly and found himself striding forward and snagging at the older man's wrist. John resisted automatically, pulling away with the begins of a snarl curling at his mouth. Dean only just cut off his protests: "How did you get this?"

John's stare was black and unyielding but it didn't matter because Dean didn't need for his father's answer to realise what the mark meant.

Sam made a noise of sudden, disbelieving comprehension and peered down at them as Dean slowly turned over their dad's arm, so the soft underside of his forearm and palm were facing up towards them. From this angle the mark didn't look like a ring of raw burns at all, it looked like the bruises left by grasping fingers.

"An Angel," Sam whispered breathlessly and turned away, his face puckered and desperate. "Dean I don't understand, why would the angels bring back Dad?"

Dean stared down at the greedy grasp that had been burnt into his father's skin and felt his own mark from Castiel thrum with heat in response and hesitated, before shaking his head, "I have no idea. But when did anything they do make sense?"

Bobby was oddly silent and when Dean finally released his father and turned around, Bobby's face was clouded and pained with the unfurling suspicion.

--00—

"Alistair."

Dean made a noise of startled, remembered fear and turned around to see his Dad's carefully controlled expression trained on him; Dean had been waiting for Castiel and was so focused on the sounds of wings he hadn't heard his father coming up behind him. He shrugged and slumped further into the bench and tried not to look into those familiar dark eyes, intent on disappearing back into his worn-in denial.

"What? I don't remember..."

"Don't, Dean. Not to me." John ordered quietly, steel lining his voice and bent down until their faces were on the same level, "Not to me. To everyone else, but don't lie to me."

Dean went quiet, his muscles spasming in remembered fear and unable to give words to any of his emotion, he turned away embarrassed.

"How long?" John asked quietly, "How long did he have you."

"Dad. Please...I Can't." Dean's voice was a croak and he shuddered as John's heavy hand came to rest against his shoulder, his dad's firm protective fingers pressing against the back on his neck as if to steady his sudden brittle, breakable body.

"It's over."

A noise of angry disbelief escaped through his teeth and Dean shook the man off him. At any other time Dean would have been desperate for the comfort John was finally offering, but now it seemed too little, too late and it wouldn't make any difference either way. Dean was broken up inside and he knew it and didn't see any point in dwelling on it or talking about it.

Anger warmed his belly and he started to move away from the awkward conversation.

"Dean." John's voice was firm and metallic and this time Dean didn't shrug him off as his dad grabbed at his shoulder, positioning him until he had to stare into the man's unwavering, hard edged features. "Whatever happened down there, whatever they did to you; it's over. It's over."

At his words something in Dean snapped. He could hear some fragile, wafer thin damn cracking and tumbling and all those memories and emotions about hell that he'd stored up, exploded in awful fiery waves and crescents of remembrance.

Dean shuddered and fell boneless against his father's barrel chest, folding himself like wet cardboard into the protective embrace of his dad, trying to seek some form of comfort and protection against the sudden internal attack. "Dad."

"I know, I know" John whispered gently and stroked at his hair with probably the most tenderness he had ever shown to either of his children. "It's over."

Dean closed his eyes against the on slaughter of tears that suddenly rose like a tidal wave beneath his eyeballs and shivered despite the heat of the night. The words he wanted to speak were choking him, closing off his airways and he hated himself for taking comfort in his father's embrace even as the brittle, blood soaked parts of him screamed angrily at the man, demanding to know why he hadn't been there to help him, to save him.

He shuddered into John's embrace, taking comfort from his dad even as he realised this didn't make everything okay again. Dean hated himself more for how utterly unfair his emotions were.

--00--

That first night they all slept in Dean and Sam's motel room; Sam and Dean forced to share a bed like they used to as kids and Bobby and John whispering angrily in the corner of the room.

Sam's eyes looked black in the dim light and he stared past Dean silently, his face unreadable and unfamiliar and Dean might have made more of it but his earlier emotions had exhausted him, his limbs were unmovable and his head clogged up and painful. Instead he was content to lie sleepily next to his brother, comforted by the steady push and pull sounds that Sam's breathing made.

"I need to get some air" Sam whispered and slipped away through the front door, his hands shaking like a drug addict on the door handle.

Dean wished he knew what to do; with his brother and with Castiel. He felt guilty for not wishing the angel to leave like Bobby and his father so obviously did, but he needed Castiel, needed whatever odd, divine power the angel could lend him. He had experienced hell and had no desire to feel it again.

His nightmares loomed at the thought and he shuddered and sat up determined to defy sleep a little longer but instead found himself listening in on the angry whispers from the other end of the room.

"I can't believe that kid, what was he thinking?" his father's voice was angry and guilt stricken and Bobby's wasn't much better.

"I'm not sure he had much of a choice; at least that was impression I got off that bleedin' angel. I think it's like a demon possession. The victim is watching but unable to talk."

Dean winced at that and wondered how the others couldn't see Harry lingering behind Castiel's wall of calm, untouchable serenity. Harry was more than just watching, he was like ink seeping into the blank pages of Castiel's spirit. He made the angel more human, more hesitant and uncertain in his actions, made him question himself in a decidedly human way and Harry was there constantly whispering behind the scenes, his humanity tainting the angel's conviction.

Dean didn't know if all Angelic possessions were like that, but he doubted it. Castiel and Harry were special, sometimes it seemed as if they shared a body, it might not have been comfortable for either of them but it was no demon possession; besides angels needed agreement from their vessels in order to use their bodies.

It was unfair and painful but it wasn't evil. Castiel, with his new born sparked emotions was just as much a victim to the angelic possession as Harry was and from what little the angel had said Dean gathered Harry was more like Castiel's confident than his victim.

It was just a shame it caused such obvious pain to Bobby and his father.

Unwilling to hear anymore of his father's gruff spoken hatred, Dean slipped slowly out of the motel. Years of training made his footsteps almost silent and he was out the motel and outside before anyone noticed him.

Dean sighed and slumped against the motel wall, relaxing into the stifling heat of the night and the steady, buzzing that came off the sickly yellow lights that lined each roof edge. From his position he could see the dark spread of an unlit tarmac car park; softened enough by star light so that the cars looked as if someone had sprinkled glitter along their rooftops.

He wasn't even that surprised to see the Impala was gone and Sammy nowhere to be seen.

--0—

Dean's life slipped into a routine almost too easily.

It just wasn't exactly the routine he expected.

His father took over the role of leader and in a way Dean was glad of it. He had been raised to obey every order his father gave and he was good at it, John said jump and he didn't even asked how high, just jumped until he got it right. It had worked for them when he was a child; walking a dangerous balancing act between protecting his little brother and keeping his own hind safe. It had even worked after Sam had left, because Dean hadn't known any better and he was still young for all his brash, fool-hardy cockiness.

But he wasn't young anymore.

He was old, he had spent so long in hell that it had scrapped away ever last slither of youth and innocence he had ever had and now, when he obeyed his father it wasn't out of unquestioning loyalty or youthful hero worship it was out of weariness. With his Dad around there was no need for Dean to take charge, to be the one who made the decisions and he was grateful to fade into the background and just not think.

At least at first. Apparently without the distraction of looking out for Sammy and taking on the role of leader all Dean had left were his thoughts and they were full of hellfire and pain.

His sleeping pattern which hadn't been great since he'd come back from hell rapidly deteriorated and Dean spent most of the nights in their motel rooms staring at ceilings and avoiding sleep until his body refused consciousness and he was forced into fiery nightmares that left him sweat soaked, shaking and entirely un-rested.

If Sam noticed he didn't say anything, but there again ever since their dad had returned Sam had been bouncing between old resentment for John's iron dictatorship and creeping around for his new secret meetings with Ruby. Dean didn't like that Sam thought he was too stupid to not notice what his little brother was doing but the sudden sharp memories of hell kept him weak with exhaustion and he didn't have the energy to confront his brother.

Dean sighed and rolled over onto his side; Sam's bed was untouched and empty as it had been every other night since they'd found their dad and through the paper thin walls of the motel he could hear the familiar muffled sounds of his father's snoring; it should have been enough to lull him to sleep.

"Dean."

"Jesus!" Dean snapped and found himself tangled and caught in the ropes of his sheets in his hurry to turn and face the owner of the voice. Castiel was perched immobile on the edge of the bed, his eyes staring blank and unseeing before him and his face illuminated by some light of unknown origin. It made his skin look like ivory and glitter, and it made the new worry lines and the deep bruises around his eyes all the more prominent.

"You look like shit." Dean commented softly and propped himself upright against the headboard.

"It has been a stressful week." Castiel responded vaguely and then tilted his head and focused with sharp gem eyes on Dean. "You have not been sleeping."

Dean shrugged uncomfortably, "Motel beds; it's like sleeping on rocks and broken glass."

Castiel watched him silently, his eyes entirely too knowing. "I can make your sleep dreamless." He said finally and turned away from Dean as if uncaring of his reaction and Dean probably would have believed him a week ago, but now he knew too look for the slight narrow flicker of Harry's eyes and the way sharp green watched him from beneath the soft, feather curl of drooping eyelashes that betrayed the angel's emotion.

"Maybe you should sleep too."

Castiel almost smiled at that, the grin was crooked and hesitantly bitter and Harry flashed in the sharp lines of pain that flew across the angel's face suddenly. "There is no dreamless sleep available to us." He answered bleakly, "Lie down,"

Dean watched him, even as he slid down to obey the angel's command. Harry was staring into space again, his head tilted and his eyes trained on something Dean couldn't see. The man sighed and stood upright, leaning over Dean's horizontal body, the dark curls of his hair sliding and tumbling down around his face in a mockery of halo as Dean stared up at him.

"Cas," He started hesitantly, "My dad, he had an angel mark on his wrist, like mine. Did you bring him back from hell?"

Harry's eyes were bright shattered fragments of emeralds and glass; lit up and sparkling with heavenly light and Dean was pretty sure it would be his favourite colour forever. Two burning fingers pressed against his forehead gently, hot enough that Dean almost flinched away from the tender touch, "I will take away the nightmares."

"Cas..."

Dean felt his mind thrum and quiver at the angel's words and his eyelids drooped threateningly. Harry's thin, delicate boned face wavered in his vision; the electric green of his eyes shining brighter than ever.

"Yes Dean. I dragged John from hell."

The sudden questions that the answer sparked were clogged by his tongue, thick with unnatural, forced sleep and by the time Dean was awake enough to ask them, Castiel was gone.

--00—

It was lucky that Castiel had taken away Dean's nightmares he needed his energy in the following weeks. His father who had been seething but silent as his watched Castiel was about ready to burst and Dean spent most of his time calming the man down, except some of his arguments held a grain of truth in them and Dean was hesitant to dismiss them entirely.

"That angel is killing him"

Dean tried not to stare at the pain that flickered behind his father's face, he didn't want to acknowledge it and John didn't want to share it but he couldn't ignore the strain in the man's voice and flinched at the sound of such emotion caused by a boy who he didn't know.

"He's an angel"

John eyes flashed dangerously and he seemed to expand in anger, his weary features tightening until the familiar wrinkles around his mouth disappeared into the fold of his lips. "Harry's body can't take the possession must longer. Housing an angel is like housing a runaway comet; they burn too bright for us. It's only Harry's..." he stopped abruptly and there was a flicker of regret and disgust that flashed across his features almost too quickly before he continued. "Even Harry can't contain him much longer without permanent damage"

Dean let his eyes slid away from his father's flooding emotion and to the small figure that was stood by the window.

Harry's green eyes were pale, almost colourless and shinning brighter than usual with Castiel's radiance. But the rest of him was wearing; his skin was translucent in the dawn light, so thin that Dean could trace the delicate patterns of veins across his thin wrists and see the beat of his heart weakly fluttering in the hollow of his collar bones. His face, so fine and delicately built was gaunt, the bones butter-knife sharp and straining against his flesh and his eyes, so cosmically bright were circled with rings of purple and pressed deep into his skull. He looked ill but then again Dean realised, he had been looking ill for a while now.

Castiel turned at his intense appraisal and for a moment Dean thought he saw Harry staring back at him; the familiar face was twisted into pain and irritation and the backdrop lit eyes were desperate and hollow and so entirely human.

John's breath caught beside him and Dean glanced between them, sick suspicion rolled through his stomach, unfurling until he thought he was going to be physically sick.

He turned away from the angel and back to his father even as the sound of fluttering wings echoed around them and stared at the now familiar burn that raw and swollen in a possessive bracelet around the man's wrist.

"That's why you to help the kid? Only because the angel is hurting him?" he asked again and the question felt heavy and oil like as it slithered past his tongue.

John was still staring at the space Castiel had been moments ago and spun around to snarl at Dean, "Of course it is! Why else would I want to help him?" he huffed and stomped away, his shoulders rolled forward in a barrier of muscle and leather.

Dean watched him go, his heart heavy against his ribcage and realised Bobby was right, there were things that he just didn't want to know about his father.

--00--

John's silence lasted a grand total of three weeks and two days. It was about two weeks longer that Dean expected but the actual confrontation between John and Castiel caught him off guard and he found himself stuck in between the newly appeared angel and his Dad when John finally snapped.

"Have you nothing better to do but creep around after him." John hissed and swung around to stare down at Harry's unmoving form, his hands itching to grab the boy. Dean winced as Castiel's gaze slid over John as if he was glass, utterly dismissive, before coming to rest on Dean.

"Dean, we have..."

"You don't get to just ignore me!" Snarled John and grabbed at Harry, wrapping his hand so tightly around Harry's skinny arm that Dean thought he might actually break the boy's limb. Castiel slowly looked down at John's fingers and reached out to the burn he had left on John's wrist. As soon as his fingers touched the burn he had inflicted, Dean's father released the angel and stumbled away with great gasps of barely suppressed pain, cradling his wrist against his chest.

"John Winchester; you are not important or significant and have no power over me or my vessel."

Castiel's face was so bright with power it was almost blinding. Dean had never actually seen the angel angry before, not truly. Before, Harry had always been sparking and straining at Castiel's bonds but this was all angel and Dean found himself lowering his eyes in the face of it. He couldn't help but wonder, feeling sick with all too familiar suspicion what it was that his dad had done to piss of the angel so thoroughly.

John stared down at Harry blackly, his mouth tight and drawn and his eyes broken. "Come Dean," his dad snarled and turned away back to the motel room, shaking with anger.

"Dean." Castiel's voice was still gruff with emotion but the burning angelic light had retreated and he was back inside Harry's impossible frail form as Dean looked down at him. Harry's eyes were burning with human emotion and they flickered nervously between Dean and the retreating figure of his father as he spoke. "I need to speak to you."

Dean hesitated, torn between his father and Cas (or Harry, he was getting confused by this point) and apparently his hesitation lasted a moment too much because John gave a huff of irritation, swore and slammed his way back into the motel, locking Dean outside.

"Dad!" Dean called and started to turn to the locked door, his legs stopped and he spun back around to face the angel. "Cas, what is it?"

Castiel had already left.

--00—

Dean's suspicions on his father and Harry continued to plague him and in the end he went to Sam, certain the brains side of the brothers Winchester would be able to give him some conclusive fact.

"Hey Sammy."

"It's Sam." His brother corrected automatically, not even looking from polishing Ruby's demon killing knife.

"Sam." Dean repeated, rolling his eyes and hunkered down next to his brother, "Haven't seen you in a while."

Sam tensed, his shoulder muscles bunched and locked up into iron cords and his fingers went white with pressure as he gripped the knife. "Yeah well, you've been pretty busy too."

Dean felt his eyebrows rise at that and ran a tongue over the chapped corners of his lips questioningly "Hmm? Come again. I've been sitting pretty ever since dad got back."

Sam huffed and threw the equipment from his hands angrily, watching as they skidded across the length of the table and bounced off the floor. "You told dad about hell."

Dean's knees went loose and he found himself sliding to the floor unwillingly in the face of Sam's words.

"You told me you didn't remember hell. But you did and the first chance you got, you told Dad." Sam stood up and stared down at Dean, hurt and anger wrestling for dominance across his face. "You trusted Dad more than me. Everything we've been through and you still don't trust me."

Dean shook his head, still unable to get words to fight his brother. "Look, it wasn't like that."

Sam bit his lip and swallowed angrily before throwing his arms up in exasperation, "Whatever, I'm...I'm going out."

Dean watched as Sam slammed his way through the front door, hunching his shoulder and stomping just like Dad had and sighed. He hadn't even managed to ask Sam what he thought about Harry and their father, instead he'd just found another problem to deal with.

--00—

The second confrontation between his father and Castiel/Harry came quicker than Dean had expected.

Since his father's arrival, Harry had all but disappeared, sinking into the far reaches of the shared bond between the angel and man and Dean had barely glimpsed at him through Castiel's familiar patient apathy and his new, blinding anger. Apparently John affected Harry as much as Harry affected John, Dean realised, feeling sick and rolled over into the folds of his duvet restlessly just as the room was filled with the echoes of wings.

Castiel perched hesitantly on the edge of Dean's bed and Dean didn't mind as much as he thought he should have as he turned his head to glance over at the angel. "Dude, you know it's the middle of the night."

Castiel gave a decidedly human shrug of nonchalance and slumped forward a little. If Castiel had had wings, Dean betted they would be drooping. Harry's skin looked as dry and thin as paper in the sickly light of the motel, his eyes were pressed deep into his face and his lips were bleached of all colour. Dean sighed and flickered on the light beside his bed, staring at Harry silently.

"Castiel is everything okay?"

Harry looked up and Dean couldn't quite understand the flicker of emotion that ran across the man's features, for a moment it had looked like embarrassment. Castiel moved so he was better seated on the bed, his legs limp and dangling off the edge of the bed but his torso titled towards Dean. "Dean, I need to tell..."

"Get the fuck away from him!" John's deep growl snapped apart their conversation and both Dean and Castiel turned to look around into the barrel of a gun. John's eyes moved between Dean and Harry, his gaze tracing the position of their bodies and his mouth tightening with an emotion that was almost as ugly as anger.

Harry's brow furrowed, "Rock salt doesn't harm angels."

"You've stole his body." John hissed ignoring the warning

"I am not a demon." Castiel stated, his eyes flashing, "Angels need permission to possess a vessel"

Harry didn't look all that unflustered as he faced his father; the signs were small, the nervous flutter of his heartbeat in the hollow at the base of this throat and the frantic movement of his eyes. Dean watched him slightly confused by the blatant expression of emotion from the angel and saw Harry shimmering nervously beneath the surface of Castiel's angelic facade. Pressing against Castiel's control; Harry wasn't sleeping anymore.

His father didn't see it, but he had always been blind to other people's emotions, especially in the face of his own anger. He loomed forward, using his size to corner the angel against the bed he was perched on. Dean slipped off the other end of the mattress wearily, standing beside the confrontation in only his boxer shorts and the blanketed remains of almost sleep.

"Dad I think...."

"Shut up, Dean," John commanded and turned his attention back to Castiel, his teeth were fanged as he smiled dangerous at the being before him. "You're all the same to me; scum that have to use people that are weak and desperate. Harry would never have you allowed in if he'd had a choice."

Castiel's eyebrows knotted into an almost angry line over his forehead and his voice was deep and etched with annoyance. "You should not make light of Harry or his decision. John Winchester."

"Decision? What decision. What did you offer him, what did you bribe him with? How did you trick him, you bastard." John looked like he wanted to hit the being before him, but his eyes were hazy with confusion and he kept tracing the delicate lines of Harry's face and the thin bones in his arms with irritation and grief.

Dean's mouth was full of tar as he watched his father greedily soaking up Harry appearance,"Dad, stop."

"Harry was not tricked into anything," Castiel snapped and there was so much of Harry in his response Dean wasn't sure how his father could not notice. The angel was fading from Harry's form and the real owner of the body bubbled to surface, enraged by just a few words.

"Dad, please..."

John ignored him, his gaze still locked on Castiel and snorted, "Oh yeah? Well why the hell would he do it? Why would he throw himself away so stupidly...?"

"It wasn't stupid!" Harry snarled and both Dean and John stopped breathing as they stared into the emotion filled face of the man. Harry's eyes were glossy with tears and he stumbled upwards gracelessly; all remains of the angel gone as he pushed John's angry form with curled up hands that didn't even really work against the bulk of his father.

Castiel was gone; the man before them was all human, all Harry.

John snagged at his thin shoulders and shook him desperately "Harry? Harry? Why did you do something so stupid?"

Harry face was strained white and he hit at John with desperate, clawed fingers, tugging at the man's shirt until he got tangled up in its chequered material. "It wasn't stupid. It wasn't stupid you ignorant old bastard. I did it for you."

Finally Harry managed to escape the confines of his father's hold and he shuddered against the cold, feeling the needs of his body and wrapped his too thin arms around his torso, protecting himself from John's hurt, angry eyes.

"I did it to save you from the pit. Even after everything that happened, I still..." Harry choked on his own words but John's shattered, pained expression showed that he had still heard all the things that Harry couldn't make himself say.

Dean stared at John, feeling cold as Harry and Castiel disappeared in a flurry of feathers. "Oh Dad, no."

His father had never looked so broken and Dean didn't want to comfort him.

--00—

"Is it true?"

Castiel looked over at Dean, his eyes still oddly red rimmed with the remains of Harry's grief. He paused and his lips pressed together, exhaling slowly, before tensing at Dean's quirked eyebrow. "I apologise, Harry's emotions are... strong tonight. Yes, it is true."

Dean frowned, "But why? I don't understand. I thought you saved my dad?"

Castiel's expression had evened out to pale serenity once again and he stared patiently as Dean tumbled through half realised understanding. "I offered Harry a deal; I would bring back your father from hell if he would be my vessel."

Dean flinched away from the angel's emotionless confession of blackmail and repeated hollowly "But why would he?"

"Harry loved your father very much, Dean."

"They were fucking." Dean corrected sharply and Harry's eyes almost lit up in renewed anger.

"Physically intimacy was a large area of their relationship" Castiel responded too calmly, his soft voice like balm against the disgusted, horrified parts of Dean that rebelled against the idea of his father being with anyone, especially Harry.

Dean felt his rage stutter and choke through him as he was focused on Harry's youthful, ageless face and his skinny teenage body. "Harry's too young... He's ... He can't be legal"

"My presence keeps his body in a state of stasis and his kind age slowly. Harry is nearly twenty nine, only a year younger than you." Castiel titled his head to Dean and frowned slightly, "This knowledge hurts you?"

Dean hissed in anger, and shot to his feet, "Of course it hurts! It's wrong, it's all wrong." His dad had been fucking someone young enough to be his son, younger than his oldest child. Dean felt bile coat his throat suddenly. "It's sick."

Castiel stared up at him, blank face with incomprehension, "You mean a man lying with a man; because actually God does not..."

"No, not that!" Dean snapped; the angel's lack of understanding making his own tangled emotions burn brighter and hotter. "It's just... I don't understand anything. There's this kid that so close to my dad, to Bobby? And no one mentioned him to me? My dad had a whole other life away from us, from me. How long has it been going on, how long have they known each other?"

Dean didn't think he questions really got to the heart of his own disdain and pain but it was a start and Castiel nodded thoughtfully, his slow motions calmly the storm in Dean's chest. "Harry met your father and Bobby when he was fourteen. I believe they started a physically relationship when Harry was twenty one. John Winchester has had a lot of influence on Harry."

Dean stared blankly into Castiel's heaven lit eyes and saw the edges of old grief lapping at the pupils. Castiel's voice was uneven as he spoke. "He hurts Harry more than he realises with his callous remarks, there are still old wounds that have not healed and he does little to let them. It is hard to retain control in his presence."

Dean stared at Castiel and saw the last remains of Harry slip away into the ether of Castiel's soul, leaving only the blinding brilliance of the angel. "Hey Cas," he started slowly, "You don't like my dad do you?"

Castiel blinked up at Dean and for a moment he thought he was going to get another vague, cryptic angelic reply but then Castiel sighed and stared up sourly past Dean's head.

"No Dean, I do not and this worries me greatly."

* * *

_I hope this met all your expectations, this was hard to write as it's easy to get over melodramatic. Dean finally knows about John and Harry; this is something that the poor boy will have to deal with for the rest of the fic. Harry and Castiel's separation is coming up very shortly so I hope you're looking forward to that.  
_

_**next chapter: I know What You Did Last Summe**r- Anna enters and creates trouble. Castiel and Harry finally push the angels too far.  
_

**review please**


	7. I Know What You Did Last Summer

**Author's note:** Sorry this has taken such a long time. I'm in the middle of exams so I doubt there will be an update for the next two weeks. But after that I'll have far too much time on my hands so it should be updated relatively consistently.

**Warnings:** None. Unbeta'd

* * *

—**00—Chapter Seven—00—**

**I Know What You Did Last Summer**

Dean hadn't so much as looked at his father since he'd realised the extent of the relationship between Harry and John.

The knowledge was like a wound, rotting away at his skin and every word and sharp look John threw his way left him prickling with disdainful anger until he thought he would explode. He wasn't good at understanding the complexities of emotions but Dean knew he loved his father; he had grown up seeing the man as a hero, completely blind to his faults and he also knew these new realisations hurt more than they should. He hated seeing John as flawed and selfish but it didn't account for the simmering rage he had been feeling, so he went to Sam because Sam was his brother and the closest person he had. Maybe Sam wasn't the best person to speak unbiased about their father, but Dean didn't have anyone else to talk to.

He dragged his brother away from the motel, telling him they needed to hustle money. In a way it was true; they were low on money but then they were always low on money. Dean just needed to get Sam and himself somewhere there was enough alcohol to loosen his tongue and away from the stifling presence of their dad.

"Hey Sammy," Dean called over the echoes of music and placed four bottles of beer between them.

"It's Sam" his brother corrected distractedly, force of habit making his mouth move even as his attention flickered between the other occupants of the bar, trying to find a suitable candidate to hustle.

"Listen I got to talk to you about something." Dean knocked back one of the beers in one gulping go as Sam turned to watch him, eyes sharp and suspicious.

"You don't want to hustle," Sam stated and sighed sipping at his own beer wearily. "Okay Dean, what's wrong." His brother's hurt about Dean not telling him about Hell was still there, making him prickly and distant but it had dimmed, calmed by Sam's own, sympathetic logical mind.

"I found some stuff out...about Dad... and Harry."

"Harry; as in Castiel's vessel Harry?" Sam asked, his forehead drawn and knotted in a way that meant he had already guessed what the other person was going to say and didn't quite believe it.

"Yeah, that Harry," Dean sighed and ran his hand along the back of his neck awkwardly, speaking about his father's sexual escapades was not something that was ever going to be easy to talk about. "Sam, they were..."

"Hold that thought," Sam suddenly interrupted and was on his feet and striding across the room before Dean could blink. His eyes followed the line his brother was walking and into Ruby's dark, icy gaze that was trained on them impatiently. Dean groaned in annoyance, as if this night could get worse. His fingers around the beer bottle tightened and Dean considered throwing it at the demon before releasing the glass, quickly following his brother over to the bar.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me." He hissed over Sam's shoulder.

Ruby rolled dark eyes at him, "I just have some info then I'm gone."

"Great demon whispers- that's reliable."

Sam swung around to glance at him over the line of his shoulder, his brow was furrowed with blossoming annoyance and remembered embarrassment and Dean wondered which would win if he kept provoking him.

"Girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently some real heavy hitters turned out for the Easter egg hunt." Ruby's eyes flickered over with dark emotion over to Dean, her lips threatening to curl up in some twisted form of humour, except Dean wasn't smart enough to get what she was hinting at and just stared back defiant and blank.

"Why? Who is she" Sam asked, slipping into old, worn in concerned sympathy and a hundred mile an hour thought process.

"No idea," Ruby's eyes snapped back to Sam, boring up into his brother's face, "But I'm thinking that she's important, 'cause the order is to capture her alive. I just figured that whatever the deal is, you might want to find this girl before the demons do."

Dean felt a look of incredulous disbelief carve itself into his features and waved attention to himself, "We are not chasing after some chick, that for all we know doesn't even exist, just because you say she's important. Thanks but no thanks."

Ruby's eyes narrowed into slits and her eyes looked like black pearls in the dim light of the bar, "I'm just delivering the news. You can do whatever you want with it. As far as I'm concerned I've done my bit."

With a flourish she jumped off the bar stool and spun on heel and started to stalk away when Sam's hand shot out and tugged at her arm. Dean stared at the giant paw that was his brother's hand and Ruby's tiny and fragile possessed body, standing submissively in the grip of his brother.

"Wait, wait," Sam started quickly, "The hospital she escaped from- it got a name?"

—00—

"So Anna Milton is definitely real." Sam clicked off his mobile and ran his thumb over it thoughtfully, glancing up from beneath the too long strands of his hair in a way Dean was sure was meant to be subtle.

Dean just snorted and drilled his fingers across the curve of his steering wheel, "Doesn't mean the case is real. The hospital's a three day drive from here."

"We've driver further for less." Sam pointed out and he was being far too calm and logical for Dean's mood right now.

"I don't care." He snapped, and flexed his hands against the wheel angrily, "This just sucks. The case, the drive, everything just sucks."

Sam hesitated, staring at Dean as if he could figure out the answers to all his questions from just watching the streetlights play across his face. "I would say you're pissed because it was Ruby that threw us the tip but I don't think that's it."

"Oh no don't get me wrong." Dean peered narrowed eyed at Sam, "I hate that Ruby gave us the tip. I hate how you treat her like she's practically family and how she has you eating out the palm of her hand. I'm pissed about all that."

Sam's skin pinched together in lines of barely controlled anger and Dean thought for a moment he would explode instead he just breathed a few times deeply and continued to burn holes into Dean's head with his intense glaring.

"Dude, What?" Dean hissed, his eyes flickering over to Sam in prickly irritation.

"It's not just Ruby. It's dad." Sam stated flatly and leaned back at the flinch that his words caused, vindicated. "You haven't spoken to the man for two days, you didn't even tell him we were driving to this hospital. Instead, I had to leave him a voicemail. Dean what's going on between you two?"

Dean hunched around the steering wheel, feeling the fire of betrayed, disgusted anger burn and flare up through his belly uncomfortably. "I tried to tell you in the bar, Sammy. I found that Dad was involved... with Harry."

Sam stared at him blankly, his mouth open in a small, shocked 'O'. "Involved as in..."

"As in doing the dirty," Dean flailed and Sam shared his shudder, which made him feel surprisingly better. At least his brother thought it was shudder worthy also.

"That's... well not quite what I had imagined." Sam said weakly, "I mean I know they knew each other but Harry's so - so young."

"And male," Dean added dryly.

"And male," Sam repeated and then started to laugh, "I can't believe we're talking about our Dad's sex life."

Dean turned to stare at him, wide eyed at his sudden amused nonchalance, "This doesn't bother you?"

"Other than the ick-dad-sex factor? No; I mean so why should it? They were both consenting adults or at least consenting..." Sam suddenly hesitated at that, a shadow flickering across his face.

"He's the same age as us." Dean interrupted, realising Sam didn't know about Harry's unnaturally youthful appearance. "But still; the same age as us. Us, his kids. He was with someone young enough to be his son."

"And as gross as that is, it's none of our business." Sam said with a shrug, "We're not kids anymore, you can't be jealous of someone for being with dad. Beside's Harry been angel-ized, there's nothing going on anymore."

Dean was silent, unable to process what his brother thought he was feeling, "I'm not jealous of Harry."

"Then why are you so upset?"

"Why are you so indifferent?" Dean retorted angrily, and Sam scowled and they both lapsed into thoughtful, seething silence.

Dean was angry at John for a lot of reasons; for not trusting him with this secret, for keeping it a secret in the first place, for what he still considered, however unfairly, to be a betrayal to mom. He was disturbed that Harry was male, that he young enough to be John's third son and he was bitter that Harry had managed to save his dad when he hadn't. More than anything Dean was hurt that Castiel and Harry; whom he had started to see as almost friends weren't his anymore. They were entangled with his father and any, silently selfish claim he wanted to make on them felt weak and insignificant next to that of his father's.

Maybe Sam was right, but Dean was jealous but not of Harry. He was jealous of his Dad.

--00—

Anna Milton was turning out to be more and more interesting with every new thing they learnt.

In Dean's experience interesting was bad, it meant you were either evil or it got you killed. Anna who had been describing the apocalypse with scary accuracy, had been attacked by demons in a secured ward and now, Dad had called Sam to tell them, her parents were dead; their throats had been slit and they'd been left bleeding on polished wood flooring, right beneath the photographs of their smiling daughter.

Dean glanced up at the stained glass window of the Milton's church and shivered a little. Every since angels had showed up in his life he'd found it a little harder to scoff so easily at religion. "So she's in here?"

"This is what she drew" Sam held up Anna's sketch pad level to the stained glass window, matching the pictures. "Dad said he'd meet us at the motel, he's getting it demon proofed. Ready?"

"Nope. Let's go." Dean shrugged into the confines of his leather jacket. Interesting was always bad.

--00—

"Dean? The Dean?" Anna's wide, bambi-eyes wavered over Dean's face and she smiled hesitantly at him. The sunlight was streaming through the stained glass windows in ribbons of red and violet and golden yellow and her hair was a bright halo of crimson tinted auburn that fluttered around her fearful features.

Dean gave her his best, cocky, confident grin, his eyes bright with flirtation. It helped that she was pretty. "That's me I guess. The Dean."

"It's really you. Oh, my god. The angels talk about you. You were in hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us." She glanced over at Sam and for a moment her smile cracked and nearly slid right off her face "And some of them don't like you at all. They talk about you two all the time lately. I feel like I know you."

"So, you talk to angels?" Dean asked.

"Oh, no. No, no way. Um, they probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of... Overhear them." Anna stuttered awkwardly and he believed her.

"So, they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just... Tuning in to angel radio?"

"Yes. Thank you." Anna's fear slid right off her then and she seemed to harden, like iron beneath silk at his words, soaking in his confidence.

The smile that crossed his lips then was probably one of the few true smiles he'd given since he'd returned from hell and the one Anna's returned was equally as painfully honest.

"Well at least now we know why the demons want you so bad. They get a hold of you and they can hear everything the other side's cooking. You're 1-900-angel." Dean said and glanced over at Sam as the church doors swung open.

"Quick!" Ruby all but skidded to a stop before them, her hands curled up nervously against her thighs. "Come on we need to go!"

"Her Face!" Anna cried, backing away from them and into the golden pool of light beneath the stained glass window. Her hair looked like fire haloing her panicked, disgusted features and Dean glanced at her, oddly vindicated even as Sam mumbled through an explanation.

Ruby's eyes darted back and forth between the door and Anna impatiently, "We don't have time for this. A demon's coming" Ruby hissed and then suddenly her body froze and Dean could see the absolute fear that made every cord of muscle in her body clamp up. It was probably the truest emotion he had ever seen from her.

"Too late" she whispered and Dean followed her line of sight to marble statue and the running lines of blood that was crawling its way down the Virgin Mary's face. "He's here."

There was a moment of stillness, the kind that was an odd, breathless prelude to main action in films and Dean stared at the locked door of the church with sickening fear knotting itself around his gut and just waited. Just waited because they were trapped and defenceless and there was nothing else to do.

He wasn't even that surprised at what happened next.

"Hello boys." The door ripped itself away from its frame and cracked as it flew away, exposing the aging face of the demon's meat suit. The man's hair was peppered with white and receding and his eyes were almost colourless with age and Dean knew who it was just from the slow, drawling tone of his voice.

"Alistair," he whispered breathless and the demon smiled at him and threw Sam across the room without the slightest flicker of interest. Sam's pained cry choked off into silence as he blacked out and Dean found himself stood struck dumb with fear as the man approached.

"Don't you recognise me Dean?" the man eyes flashed demon white and his smile curled at the edges of thin lips mockingly. "Oh, I forgot I'm wearing a paediatrician."

Alistair's fist was like a truck hitting his face and Dean crumbled beneath the blow and would have fallen to the floor if Alistair's hand hadn't have wrapped themselves around the tops of his arms, fingers threatening to strike right through his flesh and rip out the bones. He had done that once.

Another metal laden fist sent blood exploding through his mouth and Dean found himself gurgling it much to Alistair's obvious pleasure. "We were so close in hell," the man pressed his face closer to Dean and for a moment he thought the demon was going to lick at the blood that was coating his lips and twisted away in disgust, trying to escape his torturer's grasp even as his eyes moved around the room desperate for help.

His Dad was stood framed in the doorway, black eyed and wielding Ruby's knife.

"Get your filthy hands off my boy!" John moved faster than Dean had ever seen him, slamming the blade so deep into Alistair's back that some of the wooden handle disappeared beneath the demon's flesh. Lightning crackled dimly through Alistair and his muscles spasmed slightly, thrumming energy through them both as Dean wriggled away and stumbled behind the protective barrier his Dad made, feeling safe behind the man's black anger and protective rage.

"You're going to have to do better than that."Alistair chuckled, his hands groping at his back as he spun around to look at them, his eyes calm and unwavering despite the agony he must have been in as he examined John, "Oh well now this is interesting."

Dean didn't have time to wonder what that meant before they were running away, dragging a half unconscious Sam and a shaking Anna to their safe house.

Today was turning out to be a real bitch.

--00—

The safe-house's door blasted apart, cracking against its hinges in a mockery of Alistair's entrance, expect this time it was angels that stepped into the room, facing three guns and Ruby's black eyed fear.

"Please tell me you're here to help. We've been having demon issues all day." Dean said and lowered his gun, feeling warm relief seep through him as Castiel and Uriel stepped into the dim light of the ramshackle hut.

Castiel didn't answer but his eyes were wide, shocked circles of green as he took in the Winchester's bloody, protective positions and it was at that point that Dean knew things were about to get so much worse. The angels hadn't expected them to be there he realised and felt himself raising his gun again, uncertainly pointing it at Harry's thin, slender torso.

"I can see that" Uriel spoke coldly, his eyes trained on Ruby's quivering form. "What to explain why you have that stain in the room?"

Castiel eyes flickered away from Dean's his eyes dim and his forehead knotted. "We're here for Anna."

"You're not here to help her are you?" John stated slowly, his lips curling into a bleak, humourless smile.

Castiel glanced up, the green emerald of his eyes washed out to bright, illuminated angelic magnificence and tilted his head slowly, his tone emotionless. "Anna has to die."

If Castiel's expression was blank then Uriel's sick righteousness made up for it as he stepped around the smaller man, his hands unfurling and itching at his sides. "Don't worry I'll kill her gently."

"You can't!" Sam cried and stumbled to block Uriel's way into the back room. The angel's steel wall of a body made even Sam look small and Dean felt himself move, automatically ready to protect his younger brother even after all these years.

"Anna's an innocent girl." Sam continued desperately.

"She's far from innocent." Castiel interrupted quietly and Dean felt his attention flicker between the two angels momentarily. Despite the conviction of his words, Castiel still hadn't made a move from his position in the doorway. It might have had something to do with John stood before him, heckles raised like a dog but Dean didn't think so, he knew that Castiel could take out them all if he really wanted.

"Give us the girl" Uriel said almost sweetly and grinned, his face splitting around into a feral grin.

"Sorry can't do that try J-Date" Dean quirked and pressed the gun forward, training it on the larger angel even as Uriel's eyes pulsated threateningly with heavenly power.

"And who is going to stop us? You two or maybe that maybe that sinner." Uriel glanced over at John and his father suddenly flew across the room, as if he'd been grabbed and yanked out the way. Sam gasped and made to follow but Castiel stepped forward, staring up mournfully at his brother from beneath the curling waves of his hair.

"Cas don't!" Dean cried as the angel reached for Sam. Sam eyes flickered drowsily and his limbs collapsed in on themselves as he tumbled unconscious to the dirty wooden floor.

Dean didn't have time to move before Uriel's heavy, dark hand was clamping down on his shoulder, tugging him away from his unconscious family."I've been waiting for this" Uriel's smile was lazy and razor sharp and Dean was suddenly aware of how ridiculous it was to try and stand up to two mojo filled angels.

Harry's face swam in his vision, the man's skin pale and paper thin and stretched taunt over the sharp edges of his skull. Uriel reached for him and Dean had never hated Castiel more than in the moment as he watched the other angel motionlessly.

"Uriel I-" Harry's voice cracked and suddenly he was illuminated in a thousand shards of light that ripped through him, streams of golden energy pouring like ribbons from his finger tips and shooting out in beams from his mouth and eyes. Uriel staggered away from Dean, light erupting from him in the same way and then they just disappeared.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean gasped, shaking in relief and turned to the back room to make sure Anna was okay.

"I... I..." Anna stared up at him; her forearms were coated with blood and crimson dripped from the wall like raindrops around her. Her face bleached white and her lips quivered as she stared at the wall. "It just came to me."

Dean glanced at the wall and towards the crudely drawn sigil that she had painted with her own blood.

--00—

"What do you think?"

Sam rubbed at his head gingerly, apparently he had hit his head hard when he had fallen into his angel induced nap time and had been nursing his skull ever since he'd woken up.

"I think Anna's getting more interesting by the second. Is she okay?"

"Yeah. Dad's patching her up" Dean gestured vaguely to the back room of the cabin, "What we going to do with her? The angels may be out of the inning field for now, but sooner or later they're going to be back. We have to get her somewhere safe"

Sam nodded, "Bobby's?"

Dean smiled crookedly, "Is there anywhere else?" he stood up, feeling every bones and muscle in his body protest angrily and tried not to groan as he walked to the back room, ready to tell Dad his plan.

The room was empty apart from the dust swirling around the floor and the bloody sigil that had crusted dry against the wall in darkening crimson. "Sam, where's Anna?"

Sam appeared at his shoulder and cursed angrily. "Dad's gone. He's taken her."

--00—

Anna didn't like John Winchester.

He was scary with his muscular lumbering body and his dark, sharp eyes. The sympathetic kindness which burnt so bright through Dean and Sam had been broken down to tiny flakes of emotion in the older man and left him an angry, bitter husk. Anna started to associate people with shades of light and John was dim and grey, the small flame of his goodness choking on his own obsessive rage.

"Come on." He ordered quietly, the steel in his voice and the iron grip on her arm making her stumble after him unwillingly.

"But shouldn't we tell Sam and..."

"No" John said shortly and dragged her towards the back door of the shack, cracking it open and shoving her out into the cool night air.

"Wait!" Anna cried, barely controlling her suddenly jelly limbs and staring in horror at the door and John's looming, closed off face. "We can't leave the room, they'll come for me."

"I know." John wrapped his hand around her arm again and dragged her, stumbling and shaking down the path. Anna felt fear choke at her throat and she couldn't get the words out to scream for help as he pushed her inside the passenger seat of his car. Anna fell boneless against the worn, cracked leather and stared, wide eyed and horrified as John closed the door, trapping her inside the shell of metal.

"Don't be scared," he said as he slid behind the wheel, but the words felt more like an order than a form of reassurance and Anna just watched him blankly, still silent in fear. John put his arm across the back of her seat and reversed in one smooth movement down onto the main road. The pebbles gave way to tarmac and soon they were sailing towards the horizon. The morning threatened the further they went and the light spilled across the ground, stroking the desert sand with touches of gold.

"What are you doing?" Anna asked quietly and hunched further away as his dark eyes swung over to stare at her, because of their proximity she could see his iris weren't actually brown like she'd assumed but a very deep, dark, bottomless blue that reminded her of the lightless depths of the ocean.

"I'm saving your life." John answered and there was such simple conviction in him that she almost believed him. "I have a plan, don't worry."

John swung sharply off the road and the car skidded to stop, sending clouds of dust unfurling up past the windscreen. "Stay here." He commanded and pushed himself off the seat and away from the car, into the barren landscape. Anna obeyed him, pressing her nose against the glass to follow his movements; his footsteps echoed loudly and the weak, watery sunlight made every weary line of face sharp in his face.

"Harry!" he called, titling his face up towards the sky, "Harry! I know you can hear me. Get your ass down here. Harry!"

For a moment they both seemed to hold their breath but the only things that happened was the steady retreat of the night's shadows. John sighed and closed his eyes, his lips folding up into one defiant white line. "Castiel!"

Anna saw the angel before John did.

Castiel was stood on the wavering line of shadow and advancing sunlight, his face dark and his hair lit up and circled with light. It made a sun kissed halo around his fine features and shone through the bright green shards of his eyes. "Do you know what this means?" he asked slowly, his voice gravelly with intensity.

John stared at him hollowly, his face a painting of pain and Anna realised she was wrong. John wasn't scary at all, he was just as broken as all of the Winchester men, the only difference was his fractures were deeper, hidden beneath a veil of ruthless coldness.

"You want to kill her." John snapped and Castiel's electric green eyes flickered over to her momentarily. "Well you're gonna have to go through me. You have to kill me to kill her. So here I am, standing before you." John extended his arms, stretching them until they were at right angles from his body, his chest displayed for the angel.

Anna gasped at that and felt her insides curl and shudder with fear. Whatever plan she had expected from John it wasn't this.

The sunlight had advanced further and Castiel's face was smeared with sunlight, bleaching his features of shadows and draining the colour from his eyes. "Harry does want you to die."

"You can't kill me." John sneered and his arms flopped back at his sides.

"Do not misunderstand John Winchester, I can kill you. I can shatter you soul with a single touch. I can blast you into places where you will never crawl your way out of again." Castiel seemed to loom over the man angrily, his eyes narrowed into pinpricks of glass. "It is only at Harry's wish that I do not so. "

The angel tilted his head slightly and Anna was surprised because she knew that motion, she was doing it herself, listening to the gentle waves of angel chatter that erupted suddenly.

"The other angels are aware of my sudden disappearance. It will not be long before they come."

"Then you better be prepared to help me, or I'm dead." John replied and for a moment Castiel wavered, almost wobbling on his feet as if he'd been struck by a sudden, sharp blast of wind.

"Do you know what you are asking me to do? What you are asking of us?" Castiel's voice was razor sharp; bitter and oddly human despite the blank expression of his face. Anna stared at the angel confused, the man before John was lit up like all angels seemed to be in her vision but the light had dwindled and smouldered down to ashes at some point during the conversation and now looking at Castiel was like looking at a flame flickering inside a crystal sphere; illuminating all the human imperfections of his vessel instead of drowning them in angelic light.

The angel or rather the angel's vessel flinched away from John and hooked his left hand into the crook of the opposite elbow, creating a thin barrier between them. "I hate you for asking this of us."

"Yes" John's voice was firm but he had turned away from the angel, "and for what it's worth I'm sorry."

Castiel's vessel gave a noise of acerbic disbelief, "Apologises mean little from you. Do you know what the definition of insanity is John? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So I guess this means you're my insanity?"

"I'm sorry," John repeated hollowly and Anna was sad to realise that he actually was and it was breaking his insides just a little.

"Come here." Castiel said slowly and gestured for Anna to come forward.

She went hesitantly and stood nervously behind John, glad of his bulk to hide behind in the face of Castiel's sharp, shattered- glass eyes. Castiel rested a hand on her shoulder, his skin burning her through the layers of her clothes. His other hand went to John's wrist, curling around the burnt flesh tenderly, despite the angry line of his mouth.

"I'm carving sigils into your ribs." A sharp shock of pain ran through her chest and she gasped as Castiel continued. "No angel will be able to find you now and I'm sure you can keep the demons away."

John winced and straightened up as Anna stepped forward, gasping with relief. "Thank you Castiel. Thank you."

Castiel's eyes were molten as he looked at her, "Do not thank me. I would have let them take you." With an echoing sound of wings he was gone and Anna was staring, hurt and confused at the spot where the angel had been.

"Come on." John said finally, "We have to prepare."

--00—

"Castiel." Zachariah and Uriel appeared silently, their faces blank and their eyes lit up with stars and sun and heaven's promised retribution.

"I know." Castiel stared at the skies almost sadly, and turned to face the other angels "I am ready to accept the consequences of my actions."

"Your vessel has become a liability. He is a danger to our cause." Uriel appeared; tall, dark and silent behind him. His large hands clamping around Harry's thin shoulders and bearing down until Castiel thought the bones in his body would snap.

Castiel frowned a little, "My Vessel?"

"Harry Potter is a sinful, corrupting being. God has decided he is bad for you. For all the angels," Zachariah's gentle tone was almost enough to fool him, but Castiel was an angel and he knew that Zachariah's gentleness was never anything good. "We are going to rectify that problem."

"But I was the one..."

"Castiel" Uriel interrupted sharply and despite his obvious distaste of Castiel's vessel there was old comradeship shinning out from his eyes, brotherhood forged from fighting next to each other for a millennium. "This is a good thing. You will be free of this abomination. You will be able to use a different vessel."

"Indeed," Zachariah smiled pleasantly, "Of course first you need to go home."

His hand shot out and gripped at Harry's face, digging into the man's flesh with sharp glass like fingers and into Castiel with the razor blade edges of his grace. Castiel tried to call out but Harry's body didn't respond, instead he felt his spirit, folded and neatly packed into his human vessel unfurl in tatters of light as he was torn away, shattering through the physically confines of Harry's body. It hurt. It hurt like hell.

After that all he knew was heaven and it was dark.

* * *

_Yes Castiel and Harry have been seperated. Anna doesn't know she's an angel. I was catching up on my supernatural and so apparently while Ash returned he wasn't all that alive. Damn you Kripke.  
_

_**Next Chapter- Rapture: **The boys finally meet a Castiel-less Harry and Cas gets a new vessel.  
_


	8. The Rapture

**Author's note**: I'm very sorry this took so long to put up. I'm sure you've all despaired over it ever being updated again, unfortunately exams, family problems and the almost alcoholic drinking problems of my flat got in the way. I'll be honest it was mostly the drinking...

**Warnings**: none apart from slight hints of future slash. Unbeta'd.

* * *

—**00—Chapter Eight—00—**

**The Rapture**

Harry had been fourteen the first time he had seen an angel.

He hadn't realised it then, too strung out on pain and grief and spiralling through the cloudy, wavering world of madness that made fantasy reality and reality shapeless and incomprehensible. He supposed maybe that was how people dealt with being tortured but then he had never gathered up enough courage to ask anyone so he wasn't all that sure. Harry had never told anyone about his time with Voldemort; there had been no one to tell and by the time John and Bobby found him everyone he might have told had been killed.

Voldemort liked killing people in front of him but then Harry had found out Voldemort liked to do a lot of things and none of them had been particularly pleasant.

He had been fourteen and torn up into broken, bloody strips, contained by magic soaked metal cages and longing for death, desperate for the relief he thought it would give him. Harry supposed he wouldn't have cared if Santa Claus had decided to pay him a visit by that point, so when his cell was filled with light and the fluttering sound of wings he'd barely even registered it.

"Harry"

The voice was whispering winds and tinkling bells and when Harry finally turned towards the direction of the angel's voice, blood was still drying across his face.

"Don't be afraid. I am an angel of the Lord."

Harry hadn't responded. He hadn't the energy to; his limbs were still shaking with the aftermath of too many rounds of the cruciatus curse and his voice had been silenced by the jagged, angry edges of his screams. A cool hand dipped across his forehead and Harry flinched away, whining at the pain that laced up through his torso at his involuntary movement.

"God has seen you suffering. It is time to be healed now."

Harry started to sob at the angel's words, great bone jarring cries erupting from him even as the angel's giant hands had slipped beneath his shoulders and thighs, cradling him as easily as if he was a baby. Everywhere the angel touched; cool, healing relief spread through his skin. His back; which had been torn into bloody strips started to knit itself back together, the skin stretching across the exposed muscles and tendons and knobs of his spine until it thrummed with tender, newly made flesh.

Harry opened his eyes and was drenched in pure, golden light as he stared unblinking to the visage of an angel.

"I am Sariel and I have come to heal you."

And he did heal him.

After his capture in the graveyard Voldemort had decided to kill him slowly; starting from his toes and continuing upwards and Harry, despite Sariel's healing, still bore the white knotted scars of his torture. The scars coiled and roped their way along the ridges of his spine, dipping in between the vertebrae and lacing up to scratch at his shoulders, but it seemed like nothing compared to the broken remains of his body Sariel had started off with.

The first angel Harry had met, hadn't been a soldier, he had been an angel of healing.

And it was only after, once Sariel had taken him from Voldemort's dungeons, flying him away from the empty bodies of his friends and family and taken him across the ocean that he found out Sariel was also the Angel of guidance.

An angel of guidance, that took him to the Winchesters and to Castiel.

-00—**Present**-00-

"He hasn't called?"

Sam scoffed and slumped down into the leather of the impala, crossing his arms angrily. "Of course he hasn't called. This is Dad we're talking about. I'm surprised he even sent us a text in the first place."

Dean shrugged and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, he was more thoughtful than concerned because it was dad after all and he had always had an inexplicable amount of faith in his father, even after this latest stunt. John hadn't returned after he'd disappeared with Anna from their ramshackle, angel proof safe house, instead he had sent them a message saying they were safe from angels now but that was it. It didn't really tell them anything but he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else.

"Dean..." Sam's voice trailed off uncertainly, as he reached out to pat at his arm distractedly.

Dean huffed in irritation, shrugging off his brother, "What?"

"I think I just saw Castiel."

The sudden fury of emotions that hit him at the mention of the angel was surprising, though Dean really should have seen it coming. Castiel had betrayed them and it hurt, actually it really hurt, though the breakdown of his pain was probably less easily defined or understood. But despite everything Dean still considered Castiel his friend, he just hadn't realised until that moment when he had to make the call to find him. Sighing and shaking out the murky, clouds of anger from behind his eyes, Dean swung the Impala off the road and peered over his shoulder into the dusty smears of the twilight, trying to imagine why Castiel would be around here anyway.

"I think he's hurt!" Sam called and shot out of the car, darting into the darkness and yelling for him breathlessly. Dean felt streams of cold apprehension settle itself into the lining of his stomach and fumbled automatically for a weapon, his neck prickling unpleasantly and his gun slippery in his suddenly sweat slicked grasp as he stepped out of safety provided by the impala.

The night was heavy and impenetrable; the air full of static as if it had been charged with electricity and it thrummed threatening against his skin as he approached the crouched figure of his brother. Sam had curled himself almost protectively over the small knot of bones and clothing that was the angel and Dean felt his gut twist as he realised how bad Castiel looked.

"Dean. This is bad." Sam said and carefully rearranged Harry's thin limbs, spreading him out so they could see the extent of the angel's injuries. Blood seeped between Sam's fingers.

Tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth, Dean knelt down next to Harry and pushed the man's hair away from his bruised face gently, remembering the angel's kindness when he'd been hallucinating with ghost sickness. "Cas. Cas. Come on buddy,"

Harry's eyes flickered as he swam near consciousness and his forehead strained and folded in pain beneath Dean's hand.

"Castiel?" Sam asked slowly as the angel swam to consciousness, his bright, electric green eyes straining in the darkness.

"Castiel," the man repeated vaguely back at them and Dean felt renewed uneasy prickle through his static-charged body. Harry pulled away from Sam, an expression of confusion curling across his bruised face. "I'm not Castiel."

-00—

Harry passed out again before they'd even managed to carry him back to the impala.

Dean hadn't been that surprised, beneath the colourful tapestry of bruises his skin was grey and waxen and his eyes darted aimlessly, the vivid emerald of his gaze was blurred and feverish and shadowed with old, half remembered fear that seemed more like reality for the man at the moment.

It was more than a little unsettlingly seeing Castiel's vessel so human and an uneasy silence settled over them all as they drove back to their motel, even his brother was worried and Sam sat stiff and motionless, his head tilted so he could stare at Harry's sprawled out body from his position in the front of the Impala.

"What do you think happened?" Sam asked eventually, his voice soft as if he was worried Harry might overhear them from his fever induced coma. Dean would have mocked him for it, but own voice was as quiet as he replied.

"I don't know and it doesn't look like Harry's going to be of much help either at the moment." He shrugged and bite at his lip thoughtfully, "What I wanna know is where Cas is"

"The angels left." Harry's voice was a confused, slurred stutter of fever and emotion and Dean nearly skidded off the road in surprise at the sound of it.

"Jesus." He hissed and twisted around, one hand stiff on the wheel, to stare into Harry's pale, barely conscious face. "You're awake?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow almost incredulously at him and Dean realised that if it wasn't for the fever the man would have had a rather sharp come back to his statement. As it was all Castiel's empty vessel could offer him was a crooked smile that pulled at the chapped edges of his mouth and made the bruises that were pressed deep around his eyes fold up painfully.

"We have a motel room." Dean told him after a moment and Harry nodded slowly, letting his head slid wearily down the frosted window of the impala, his heated skin melting the ice almost instantly. His eyelids threatened to flicker shut again and Dean bit at his lip unable to stop himself from asking quickly, "Harry, we need to know, where's Cas?"

Harry's skin seemed to shimmer gold for a moment, the paper thin translucency of his flesh pulsating oddly as he stared back hollowly at Dean from underneath the drooping curls of his eyelashes. The man swallowed and hunched into the corner of the car with more emotion that Dean could understand; drawing his limbs around himself protectively, and looking like he was going to break into a million, agonised pieces at any moment. "They took him back."

"Back?"

"Back, to heaven; to be re-educated."

They didn't have time to ask any more questions before Harry started to convulse, his body snapping and shuddering in painful spasms across the backseat.

Dean swore and Sam fumbled over the backseat, desperately trying to stop the man from smacking his head against the metal sides of the car. Sam had all but thrown himself on top of Harry to keep him from moving but the angel-less vessel kept shuddering and shaking beneath Sam's hands, his eyes rolling back in his head until they flashed white at them.

Sam's wide, desperate eyes met his in the mirror and Dean saw his own panic staring back at him.

"Dean, he's burning up, this is bad, this is really bad."

-00—

It was nearly a week later before Harry was coherent again.

After Harry's fit in the car he didn't have another and for that Dean was sickeningly grateful but it became obvious, alarmingly quickly how sick the other man was. The first twenty four hours were the worse; the nasty fever he had contracted spiralled into wild hallucinations that left the man clawing and beating at anyone who came near him and soon after, spawned a wet hacking cough and left him with a rattle that echoed painfully through his chest with every breath he drew.

They had thought going to hospital was too risky and instead locked themselves and Harry away into their motel room, and tried to help the man themselves. After a day of trying and failing to get the man to drink water, keep his temperature down and listening to his wild, terrified nightmares, Dean was desperate enough to think of taking him anyway.

"We can't, it's not safe." Was all Sam would say on the matter and Dean had rubbed his face wearily, his eyes hard and a chest hurting as Harry started screaming at his invisible demons again.

Dean knew his brother was right but he didn't know how long he could bear to listen to Harry's hallucinations. The man sounded too much like a child; begging someone to stop, to not hurt him and to let his friends life. At first he thought they were the dreams of a hunter but it quickly became apparent that they weren't. Dean made himself listen to Harry's wild ravings, stroking at the man's feverish, sweat stroked forehead and hoped he could at least bring a little comfort to a man who he barely knew.

He didn't bother trying to sleep for those first few days, hell loomed too close and whenever he closed his eyes he heard his own pleas echoing in Harry's. Instead he became Harry's primary nursemaid and stayed by the man's side almost constantly, forcing the man to swallow paracetamol and water. Illness wasn't Harry only problem, if Dean was to guess he'd say he'd been beaten half to death; his chest was torn and grazed , his face blossoming into a colourful pattern of bruises and scabs and Dean spent hours trying to get close enough to tend to the blood crusted wounds that littered the man's torso with little success.

By the second night the hallucinations eased and Harry's blurred, unseeing gaze was a little bit brighter and the man a little bit closer to reality as morning dawned.

"Hey, it's nearly over," Dean told the man gently as he gaze started to flicker around the room uneasily once again.

Harry flinched away from the sound, tensing against the pillows and tangled ropes of bedding that he'd entrapped himself in. His eyes were electric green in the dim light of the motel and they wavered, wide and vulnerable on Dean's face in a way that made him unsure if the man was actually seeing or not.

"John?"

Dean's heart gave a painful little squeeze and all those uncomfortable realisations about his father and Harry came rushing back along with a whole load of other emotions he wasn't ready to unravel just yet. Dean hesitated and then reached out for Harry's hand, holding onto the thin palm and stroking at the scabbed knuckles gently.

"I'm watching over you, it's okay."

Harry's eyes were dull with sleep and fever but his features relaxed a little around the edges, the tightness of his mouth loosening until his lips looked soft and swollen against the bruised, waxen canvass of his face. The angry grazes across his forehead had disappeared leaving unmarked skin that glittered gold for a moment in the motel's flickering lights. "Thought you weren't coming back"

Dean didn't have an answer to that, instead he just held Harry's hand, waiting for the grip to loosen in sleep and ever after it did, he still held on, unwilling to let the man go back to his nightmares just yet.

The hallucinations were over by the third morning and by the fourth day Harry lay, exhausted but sharp eyed as Dean milled around him, the odd waxen consistency of his skin fading to golden smears of glitter over ivory and the bruises fading streaks of colour that looked like war paint as he scowled over the edges of his sheets.

Dean decided that if Harry could scowl he could answer questions and was busy texting Sam, who had left to try and find a lead on Castiel, when Harry finally threw off the last remains of his illness and decided to get out of bed.

"It's nice to see your feeling better." Dean said from behind his phone as Harry tried to move his unresponsive limbs over the edge of the mattress.

"Bite me."

Dean might have sent a quick, sarcastic reply but after four days of no sleep he had been left without a sense of humour and instead responded by throwing an empty bottle of water at his patient, watching happily as it bounced off his slow moving target.

"Oww... Merlin," Harry scowled as he wobbled onwards, nearly falling into the bathroom door and glaring miserable at his legs as if they were purposefully trying to spite him.

Dean rolled his eyes and continued his text; he could make an EMF meter out of things left over in a motel bathroom but phones and laptops mostly eluded him; the buttons were too small.

"Dean..."

Harry's voice was small and hesitant and when Dean looked up, the man was leaning against the doorframe watching him in a thoughtful almost curious way that Dean had seen directed at Sam a thousand times by teachers who came forward and told their dad how special and gifted Sammy was. In a way he was surprised to see the look focused on him and his voice wavered in unconscious confusion as he stared back at Harry's attractive, bruised features. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for... well, you know."

An awkward, embarrassed blush stained the tops of Harry's cheeks and if it had been anyone else, anyone he hadn't held down as they thrashed and cried in his arms, he would have mocked them. Dean just smiled pleasantly and looked away, wondering when Harry had left 'the anyone' else bracket.

He supposed looking after someone while they were sick and hallucinating made even the most closed off strangers oddly connected, or maybe it was just because Harry still reminded him too much of Castiel.

-00—

At the sound of wings Dean honestly expected to turn around and see Castiel staring, all pensive and serious at him from Harry's body.

Uriel's glowering form soon put that hope to rest and Dean found himself snapping awkwardly to his feet, full of nervous energy; his hands reaching automatically for a gun that wasn't there.

"Stop that, I'm not going to hurt you." Uriel ordered and grinned at Dean in a way that he was pretty sure was actually just to show the fangs of his teeth. The dark angel reminded him of a dog, grinning at people just to threaten them.

"Yet," Dean muttered back and shifted uneasily, his hands flexing at his sides.

"You're starting to understand." Uriel said humourlessly, his voice rumbling through his barrel chest and filling the room. "Now send him away."

"Listen here Chuckles, Sam's my brother. I told you..."

"Not Sam," Uriel scoffed and narrowed his eyes at him. "You really aren't the sharpest tool in the shed are you? I'm talking about that abomination in the next room."

"Harry?" Dean asked confused, "He's Castiel's vessel, why would you want him sent away?"

"He was Castiel's vessel," Uriel corrected with a sneer, "and a poor choice at that. He has outlived his usefulness. He is to have no part of this life anymore. Send him away."

Dean stared at the angel and licked the edge his mouth thoughtfully; sleep deprivation making the wheels in his head turn slower than usual as he stared at the angel. "What does it matter to the God patrol if he stays or leaves? In fact I thought he and Castiel were pretty close, I don't think Cas wants him gone."

"He is an abomination, a godless creature." Uriel's pupils seemed to pulsate, threatening to spill out into his irises in his anger. "He is a smear of dirt that I long to erase, don't give me an excuse to do so. If he so much as looks upon Castiel again; I will smite him down."

Uriel's disappearance sounded more like a crack of a whip than a flutter of feathers and Dean stared at the empty spot the angel had been in, his stomach rolling and hoped Sam would be back soon.

-00—

Harry was sprawled out on his bed when Dean came back to their motel room; the younger man's eyes were closed and his chest rose steadily even with the remaining rattle of his cough. Dean paused in the doorway watching him for a second.

Harry without Castiel was sharper and softer all at the same time and it was hard to explain exactly how, his emotions were more obvious, more turbulent and his movements fast and threatening and entirely human in a way the angel had never managed. But despite his more obviously prickly exterior there was something very fragile about the man, and Dean couldn't help but think of an acrobat balancing on a high-wire, ready at any moment to fall as he watched Harry spread out limply on the bed, his hair pooling and haloing his face in ribbons of dark colour.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Harry said softly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"But it won't have your charming personality and wit." Dean quirked back as Harry pulled himself upright, his grin a little too feral for their conversation to be considered entirely friendly. "You look better."

And he did, Harry's face which earlier that morning had still been coloured by fading bruises was entirely flawless, the untouched golden complex of his skin highlighting the clear, sharp green of his eyes and the pouting twist of his lips as he grinned back at Dean. It was slightly odd actually, Dean had never seen bruises fade so quickly.

"I heal pretty." Harry stood upright slowly, in a gingerly hesitant motion that reminded them both of his lingering illness. "Anyway I wandering can I borrow some clothes, the only set I have are the ones on my back and I've been wearing them far too long."

"Angels not fans of fashion, then?" Dean joked even as he remembered that Castiel had never changed Harry's outfit in the entire time he'd know them.

"Or fine dining. I haven't eaten in three years." Harry replied as Dean rummaged through his clothes. Harry was as slender as tree limb and both Dean and Sam had substantial height on him; there was no way he was going to fit into their clothes so in the end Dean just threw the first thing he found at the man admitting defeat.

"Angels don't need to eat." Harry explained at Dean's thoughtful look and clutched his borrowed clothes to his chest. "They don't need anything humans do and so their vessels don't either."

Dean stared at Harry's too thin face and the remains of illness that lingered in his face and frowned, "You don't seem to have escaped all that lightly."

Harry shrugged, "I don't think I was meant to be a vessel, Castiel said I felt different than his other vessels. I guess different isn't good when it comes to being an angelic bodysuit." He paused and that considering thoughtful look that Dean had seen before flickered across his face again, "It didn't feel right. I felt like I was fading, like my essence was leaving."

Before Dean could come up with a reply to that worrying sentence, Harry had turned away and strolled into the bathroom and the sound of rushing water covered up the awkward silence that was left in the wake of their conversation. Dean didn't understand his relationship with Harry at all; it felt new and old at the same time and part of him was expecting Castiel to speak every time the man opened his mouth. It was hard seeing one person and hearing another.

He ran his hand along the back of his neck uneasily and then started to leave, planning on giving the man some privacy. Or at least that was what he intended, suddenly the conversation with Uriel came back to him and Dean found himself striding into the steam filled room, half realised thoughts and connections rushing through his brain, ready to spill out in a worried mess.

Except that Harry was half naked, clad only in his boxers and bent over the sink as he scrubbed at his hands.

Dean stopped dead in surprise and stared at Harry's exposed body.

He didn't mean to, but his eyes were drawn to the other man, trailing along the glitter gold lines of his neck and fevered flush that that had reappeared in his skin and finally down his naked back where it stopped and he recoiled slightly in horror.

Harry's back was a mess of old white scars that roped and unfurled along his spine, travelling between the protruding vertebrae like fine lace in a series of delicately carved curves and arches; it was the of kind of scar work that was made with razor sharp blades, carefully crafted onto skin. Dean had spent long enough in hell to realise the work of another torturer and he felt sick as he stared as such obvious reminders of it. Harry's screaming nightmares felt worse at he stared at the physical evidence they had obviously left.

"Jesus. What did that?" Dean asked quietly, unable to stop himself.

Harry glanced at him over the sharp line of his shoulder in surprise, his eyes molten and dangerous despite the odd vulnerability that played across the rest of his youthful features.

"Humans," he replied calmly as his hands snagged Dean's borrowed shirt, yanking it over his head in a quick, awkward fumble; protecting himself from Dean's gaze.

Dean didn't have a reply to that.

-00-

Sam came back to the motel holding a large brown paper bag complete with golden arches painted across it and enough soft drinks to hydrate an entire family.

"You going to feed us all?" Dean asked incredulously, coming to help him to juggle the food and set it onto the motel's creaking table.

His brother shrugged awkwardly, "You said to get food for the man that hasn't eaten since being possessed"

"And I haven't, Angel's don't need to eat." Harry repeated softly from the bathroom doorway, steam curling out around him in cartoon like coils.

Both of them turned to look at the angel-less vessel and Sam coughed a little in a way that Dean knew his brother was trying not to laugh. Dean wasn't so polite and choked on his amusement at the sight of the other man, grinning at Sam as Harry stomped his way past them, one hand curled up into the belt loops of Dean's borrowed jeans in order to keep them from sliding completely off the sharp ridges of his hip bones. Dean's oversized shirt was down to his elbows and his jeans swamped him, hiding his thin legs in excess material and curling over the edges of his feet, trailing material beneath him useless. He looked like a kid playing in grown up clothes. The image was almost adorable.

Harry scowled up at them "It's not my fault you're a family of giants."

Dean grinned down at him, "Okay Tom Thumb."

Harry didn't respond as he had seen the fast food and hunched over it, devouring the first meal with barely a breath.

"Dude, you wanna slow down?" Dean asked almost admiringly and Harry glared up at them, his cheeks puffed out with half a burger and French fries, mumbling an answer that Dean concluded meant no. Dean showed his hands in a message of submission and sank down into the chair opposite Harry, waiting for him to finish.

"So why do you think Castiel got taken?" Sam asked their guest quietly, settling himself onto the bed behind him. Harry's frantic movements stilled and he stared up at them, wide eyed and bitterly incredulous. Without Castiel he was much easier to read, emotions flickered and burnt through his features, leaving the feelings plastered raw across his delicate features.

"You mean you don't know?"

Dean and Sam exchanged baffled looks and turned back to Harry's scowling face.

"We disobeyed to help John and Anna. They took Castiel away to be re-educated, they think he's been corrupted." Harry hissed and dropped the burger, staring at it blackly.

"So we just have to wait for him to pop back in?" Sam asked Harry hopefully and Dean winced, knowing from his conversation with Uriel that Harry was definitely not going to be allowed to hold Castiel anymore.

Harry frowned back at him, "He's not going to pop right back in, idiot. They think I corrupted him so they ripped us apart, if he returns they'll give him a different vessel."

"Wait," Dean interrupted, worry marring his smooth forehead in wrinkled lines, "if?"

"Yeah if, I don't know what happens now." Harry looked pained, "I don't know if he's okay or if they're hurting him. I don't even know if he's going to be allowed to come back at all. Re-education is not a nice thing."

Dean stared at Harry's pale, paper thin face, examining the deep circle bruise that had been pressed beneath his eyes and the too sharp lines of his jaw and realised just how much Harry had given to the angel. Harry had been with only Castiel as company for the past three years, he had given the angel his body, his thoughts, his experiences, his life. Dean supposed that would make two people close.

"I need to go and find him." Harry said suddenly and dropped the burger and leapt to his feet in a move that made the colour drain out of his features dangerously.

Dean shot to his feet, mirroring Harry's as he placed a steadying hand on the younger's man arm. "Whoa there sparky," he interjected, ignoring the scowl Harry was sending at his hands. "I don't think that's a good idea. You've only just gotten out of bed,"

"Yeah, beside you're an angel's vessel that remembers everything that was going on around you. You're a demon's wet dream and now you've got a great big target on your back." Sam added, staring up at Harry with those wide, soft eyes that made girls melt and victims calm down.

Harry's mouth twisted down in a thin, angry, red line "I can take care of demons."

Dean reached out, barring his way with the palm of his hand flat against Harry's chest. Harry pressed a little forward, almost resting on his hand until he could feel this ridges of his ribs through his borrowed shirt. Harry's heart was a slow, angry beat and Dean tried not to flinch from the narrowed, frozen jade eyes that stared up at him.

"Are you going to stop me from leaving?" Harry's eyes sparked dangerously and his skin thrummed with electricity beneath Dean's hands.

Dean felt the hairs on his neck rise warningly but he didn't remove his hand, despite the electric shocks that were biting at his finger tips, instead he raised his other hand and placed it on Harry's thin shoulder. "And what about Angel's can you take care of them too?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up in confusion and the odd glow of his skin calmed to half translucent paper fine layers that glittered gold as he eased the pressure off of Dean's hands. "Angels? Why would I have to worry about Angels."

"Uriel said that if you stayed, he'd well... I believe his words were... smite you."

Harry's answering smile was one of feral, bitter amusement and it twisted one side of his mouth into a curl of colour that seemed too sharp for the soft lines of his lips. "I'm sure he did. Uriel might not want me to be there but can't kill me. It's forbidden."

"What?" Sam asked curiously from the other side of the table."It's forbidden to kill humans?"

"Huh?" Harry looked at him and blinked blankly for a moment, "Oh no, they love killing humans, that's fine. I think they even keep a tally. But killing me is forbidden, I dunno, maybe it's because I'm a Wi..." Harry broke off suddenly, literally swallowing the half finished word awkwardly, "Because I was Castiel's vessel?"

Dean frowned at Harry suspiciously, "Then why did they tell me they could kill you?"

Harry shrugged and slipped beneath Dean's arm delicately, "Haven't you realised yet that angels a generally lying bastards?"

Harry didn't give them a chance to respond before he was walking towards the door, his face an expression of purposeful determination. Dean sighed and made to follow, realising they wouldn't be any compromising with the man, but still unwilling to let Harry go on his stupid, suicidal mission alone.

"Wait guys!" Sam called, stumbling to follow them through the front, "I still think..."

His words were cut off and Dean turned around instinctively, not much could shut Sam up in the middle of a sentence and those things that could usually weren't good.

A scruffy, blue eyed man was stood next to Sam in their motel room, his hair moving as if he had been running, except he wasn't. In fact he was unnaturally still, his face completely unchanging despite the stunned silence that followed in the few seconds of his arrival.

Dean didn't notice Harry step next to him but he did feel the small, sharp intake of breath that whistled almost painful from the other man. Harry stumbled a few more awkward steps forward til he was framed in the doorway, between Dean and the new, sharp cheeked, blue eyed man, the electric green of his eyes bright with emotion as he stared at the stranger.

"Castiel?"

Dean winced in sudden realisation, hating himself for not recognising the unnatural stillness and the too bright inner illumination that shone from the angel's expression.

"Castiel, you're okay, they let you go?" Harry fumbled through his words, his smile watering in a wavering line of guilty uncertainty at Castiel's marble smooth apathy. "Castiel, are you okay?"

The angel tilted his head a little and flickered his gaze past Harry to Dean. The new washed out blue of his eyes was colder than Harry's green had ever made him seem.

"Castiel?"

Harry's voice was so small it hurt to hear and Dean found himself unconscious stepping up and looming warning behind the smaller man, not that he could actually do anything to help and not that Harry actually wanted help but his protective instincts were surging and his Dad's voice to protect people was roaring over the logic of his brain.

Castiel blinked and stared into Harry's pale features, "You should not still be here."

Harry recoiled as if he'd be physically struck, flinching backwards until Dean could feel the bird bones of his shoulder blades scratching at his chest. "I thought you'd want me here."

"I have learnt my lesson." Castiel interrupted abruptly, his voice gruff and full of heaven's judgement. "I serve heaven, not man and certainly not any of you."

Dean stared shocked at the cold, human-less angel before him, wondering where the tentative, baffled Cas that had been his friend and tried to help him despite his orders had gone. Judging from Sam's wide mouth expression he wasn't the only one.

"But Castiel," Harry started again and Dean felt his heart ache in apprehension, already knowing that Harry wouldn't find what he was looking for in this new version of his friend.

"Harry Potter, I have no need of you anymore."

Castiel disappeared in a flutter of wings and Harry's choking sounds of betrayal. The man seemed to fold in on himself almost instantly, his arms wrapping around his torso like a barrier against the angel's words but it didn't do any good and the broken, wet choking sounds kept escaping Harry's tightly closed lips, reminding Dean of a abused dog that was stood before its tormentor.

"Harry?"

Dean reached out for hunter, trying to draw him away from the empty space that the angel had occupied but the younger man shrugged him off violently and slipped beneath his arms and around through the front door in one smooth, boneless movement.

Dean spun after him awkwardly but the night was a clear, empty expanse. Harry had disappeared too.

* * *

_So anyone else watched the ending of supernatural? Oh Kripke. I rewrote this chapter a few times so I hope everyone enjoys it, the reviews were few last chapter so I don't really know if anyone is still reading this?_

_**Next Chapter: After school special**: Harry and Bobby's reunion and Harry and the brothers go undercover at their old school with Harry is forced to play the school student much to Dean's amusement._


	9. After School Special

**Author's notes**: My father has been very ill and I was stressed and uninspired. To make up for the large wait time, this is a very long chapter which I hope you will enjoy. and hopefully updates will be a bit quicker from now on.

**Warnings**: Implied teacher perversion. Pretty tame.

* * *

**00—Chapter Nine—00—**

**After School Special**

Bobby was half asleep when he heard the intruder.

The odd squeaky pop reverberated around his house, snapping him abruptly into consciousness and sending his hand to his gun.

It was a reflex to grab his gun, one honed by years of fear and danger and the familiar handle was a heavy and comforting weight in his hand as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and started silently down the stairs, stepping over the loose floorboards and around the creaking nails until he was stood, poised at the entrance to the kitchen with his gun cocked

Bobby had been woken up too many times by demons seeking blood and death and vengeance to ever sleep peacefully but he didn't expect to barrage into his kitchen to see a small, hunched over shadow flinch away from his presence and crouch behind his table, staring up at him with owl like green eyes, full of wary, apprehensive resignation. Déjà vu hit like a bullet.

Bobby had only ever seen one person with eyes like that.

Harry's pale, familiar face was glowing white in the darkness of the kitchen, looking bruised with weariness and a full of a familiar tumult of old, worn out emotion. "Bobby?" he asked hesitantly, uncertainly and uncurled from his defensive knot of sharp limbs.

Bobby was oddly glad as he stared at the familiar form that his large wooden table was still between them, separating them. It was hard enough seeing the dimly lit outline of the boy without getting too close to see the false emotion in his eyes. His gun felt cold against his fingers as he lifted it up again and pointed it at Harry's head. "What are you, why are you here."

Emerald eyes blinked blankly at him and for the first time Bobby noticed that the white's of the man's eyes were raw and red veined as if he'd been crying and he was dressed in clothes that were too long and too large for his painfully thin form, the material drooping over his fingertips and slung low, hanging off the sharp edges of his hip bones.

"It's me, Harry," the boy's voice was quiet and cracking as if he was tired or hurt and Bobby felt his heart ache even as his brain told him just to shot the demon, or whatever it was that was masquerading as the younger man.

He clicked the safety catch off the shotgun. "You're not Harry."

Green eyes widened in alarm and the man stumbled back a step in surprise, his hips hitting the counter with a crack. "I am!" he croaked, "I was just with Dean and Sam."

"Harry's the vessel for an angel, why should I believe you're him and not some shapeshifter or demon?"

If it was a demon it had certainly done a good job Bobby thought, he had all the mannerism right all those little quirks that only once you were familiar with someone you noticed, but Bobby had lived long enough not to hope too much. His Harry, the kid he had fed and clothed and thought of as a son all those years ago was further away from him than his dead wife. Angels didn't just let people go and live their own lives and Castiel had made it clear that Harry didn't think much of him anyway.

"Because I remember living here, I remember how you acted like we were having conversations even though I refused to talk for a month. I remember the room, my room at the top the house; it has salted metal plates that you put behind the wallpaper because I told you I was scared they would come and get me while I slept."

The man's voice quivered and his fingers were bone- white as he gripped the edges of the table, swaying forward. "Your wife died but you've never stopped saying goodnight to her and every night you held me when I had nightmares but never once asked why I had them, even though I think you probably guessed anyway."

Bobby felt his certainty waver and his gun wobbled in accordance; no one but him and Harry had been there for those memories and he had never told anyone about his time with the boy.

"You saw my magic," Harry lifted a hand and the pale flesh glittered with a burst of golden sparks that ran down the length of skin between his elbow and wrist before shimmering away to nothing around his knuckles, leaving the skin golden and glittery. "You didn't do anything because I told you it protected me and you said..."

"Looks like no one else ever did." Bobby repeated hollowly and Harry wide eyed panic dimmed and he looked away with blushing embarrassment.

"I came here because my magic brought me here. I don't have anywhere else."

Bobby dropped the gun and strode around the table in three massive, desperate steps; sweeping up the boy in the hug he'd waited for since Harry had disappeared. The younger man was all bird bones and quivering tendons against him and even as Bobby winced at how fragile Harry felt in the circle of his arms, something in his chest that'd he long forgotten was even there released and relaxed and his breath came easier than it had in a long time.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry. Everything's so messed up and I don't know what to do." Harry whispered brokenly into the scratchy material of his shirt and Bobby held him tighter at his broken confession, rewarded when he felt the kid hesitantly reach up to return the hug, his thin hands curling up into white knuckled fists at his back. It still saddened him to realise how unfamiliar Harry was with hugs.

Sighing, Bobby released him, holding him at arm's length to stare at him critically, taking in the starved edges of his face and the circles of bruises pressed beneath his eyes. Harry cheeks were flushed with the remains of fever and the clothes he was wearing drooped with excessive material. Bobby felt a grin tug at his lips, "Boy, what the hell are you wearing?"

Harry pulled a face and it was like no time had passed since he'd left, he certainly still had the look of skinny, unfinished teenage and his face had barely aged a day; still hairless and unlined despite the broken maturity of his eyes. For a moment Bobby held the unrealistic fantasy that they could just pick up where they'd left, that Harry would slip back into his life and his home as if he'd never left. It was stupid really, but even Bobby was allowed to dream.

"Dean's clothes," Harry answered and even Bobby didn't miss the familiarity in the way Harry said Dean's name.

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, "Do I want to know?"

Harry's cheeks flushed bright red, "I didn't have any others! He lent me them."

"Uh huh..."

**-00— **

"You know I'm getting really sick of not knowing where people are."

The look Sam was sending Dean; face soft and bright with sympathy was one that his brother usually directed at distressed victims and mothers, but it felt odd, a little too strained and vacant as if his brother wasn't quite there. "Don't worry we'll find him." Sam replied quietly and stared past him to the hazy midday landscape of sun soaked metal and rust flaked gravel of Bobby's junkyard with an expression Dean didn't understand.

Dean felt a frustrated grunt escape him and he shouldered his way angrily out the impala, "Who just disappears in the middle of nowhere anyway? What if the angels took him, they did say they'd smite him."

Sam shrugged as he got out the car and Dean watched him slowly breathe in the familiar rust filled air, "I don't know, but maybe Bobby will be able to help us."

Bobby's sun soaked junkyard was sprawled out before them in a maze of car skeletons and hot, humid air, and it was all so familiar and safe that for a moment Dean was content to just stand still and breathe in the smell of the place and bask in the relief that it created.

Harry was missing, Castiel was brain washed, his dad refused to get in contact, and Sam felt like a stranger half the time; but even so he felt something in his stomach loosen and relaxed a little with each inch he got closer to Bobby. He wasn't a kid anymore and knew Bobby was fallible and flawed and all too human, but the hunter had never failed him yet and, despite his own reality checked cynicism Dean was relieved that they were here. He was relieved to have someone to help him.

Dean stuffed his hands into his jeans and started to stride up towards the looming, white wash house. "You coming?"

"In a minute" Sam called slightly too harshly back and Dean glanced over sharply to see his brother busily hunched over his mobile before rolling his eyes in exasperation and continuing onwards to the house; leaving Sam to fade to a faint shadowy smear in the distance as he started up the porch steps.

Sam had been growly steadily more vacant ever since Harry had left, his hands twitching and his cheeks hollowing and Dean knew enough to know it had nothing really to do with Harry's disappearance or their dad's absence. He just didn't know what that left; there was too many secrets between them now-a-days.

"Hey Dean."

Harry was waiting for him, green eyes staring up at him patiently from the house's entrance and Dean wasn't all that surprised somehow. He watched silent and unmoving for a moment as Harry straightened up, content just to taking the man in, unconsciously reassuring himself that he was still in one piece, still alive.

Harry without Castiel moved different, he was oddly graceful in a thoughtless, boneless way. But the tendons in his hands were strained, pulling against the thin skin of his hands and his mouth which Dean remembered as being a coloured smear, moved and twisted with his emotions, curling at the edges of his lips in a mixture of hesitant greeting and defensive humour. "I thought you'd be here earlier."

"You disappeared." he started quietly and Harry shrugged, swaying into the doorframe and leaning into it defensively. "You disappeared." Dean repeated "I thought the angels had taken you."

"I told you the angels can't hurt me."

"Which is something else that I don't understand" Dean said sharply, feeling the relieved shock of seeing Harry alive and well fade into irritated confusion, "But you disappeared."

"I was angry." Harry's answer was brittle and Dean wondered if he was trying to convince himself or Dean. Dean had been there for Castiel's re-introduction and knew how much the angel's words had hurt Harry; he knew that it hadn't been anger that had made the man run. It was never anger that made people run; it was all the other emotions.

"And you came here?" he asked after a moment, stepping up to the porch so he had inches over Harry and other man would have to tilt his head back to stare at him in the eyes. Harry did as well, refusing to break eye contact first; but he seemed to recoil away from Dean, pressing himself into an impossibly thin line against the peeling doorframe and making Dean remember how small the other man actually was behind his bravado and hard faced glares.

"You came here." Dean repeated quieter, his voice gruff with odd hurt distance and for a moment Harry swayed forward slightly, leaning in automatically towards the broken edges of his voice, his fingers twitching to offer comfort.

"And where else would he come?" Bobby's gruff, accent heavy voice rumbled between them and they lurched away from one and other as the older hunter appeared behind Harry, one hand coming to rest in the small of the younger man's back and stare with sharp, button blue eyes at Dean. "Well, you coming in?"

Dean felt himself being stripped and seen right through as both Bobby and Harry turned to stare up at him and wondered dimly what it was they were seeing.

-00—

It was odd watching Harry and Bobby interact.

He knew they had been close; the room at the top of the house attested to that, but knowing and seeing were two entirely different things and Bobby was well, almost fussing. Bobby had always been as gruff and emotionally stunted as his father and for the first time Dean had to wonder if it had been an act of defence rather than a natural inclination or maybe there was just a lot more to Harry and Bobby's story than he could ever really hope to understand.

The two men moved around each other seamlessly, in a way that reminded him of how he and Sam had been; repeating cycles of well practised movement that spoke of long cohabitation despite that Harry had only disappeared two days ago. They plodded around Bobby's kitchen, which looked cleaner than it had looked in years and made coffee (bobby) and tea (Harry) while maintaining a level of comfortable silence only interrupted by Dean's own comments before sitting down opposite him.

In the brighter kitchen light Harry was every bit as attractive as he remembered; his face had lost all traces of fever and angelic interference and was bright with health, his skin pale gold. His cheeks were still sharp but without the strained gauntness Dean had beginning to associate with the man, but otherwise was as blade like as ever, the bones of wrists too prominent as he pushed the too long strands off his hair away from his face and his collar bones fragile and protruding in the dip of his shirt.

"You can stop staring now." Harry interrupted tartly and their gazes met for a second, Harry's expression bright and darkly amused beneath the lazy curl of his eyelashes.

"Scared you might disappear again on me." Dean meant it as a joke but his voice was harsher than he'd intended and Harry stiffened, crossing his arms defensively in one unconscious practised movement.

"Who would want to leave your charming company?" Harry voice was verging on acerbic and Dean found himself scowling back into Harry's too bright eyes, admiring the colour of them unconsciously. He'd never met anyone with eyes as green as Harry's and without Castiel's presence he sworn they seemed greener, deeper instead of the star lit emptiness of the angel's stare.

Bobby coughed and rolled his eyes, his hand cuffing Dean around the back of the head before moving round the kitchen, pausing at the window to stare outside thoughtfully. "Sam not here?"

"He's on the phone." Dean answered, glancing back to see Bobby hesitate at the window as he watched Sam, his eyes pale and thoughtful. "He said he'd follow."

Bobby fingers drummed against the frame for a moment and his eyes were trained and narrowed as his watched his brother in a way that made Dean feel a familiar defensive, protective instinct rear its head even knowing he had probably been thinking exactly the same thing as Bobby just a few hours ago.

"Bobby?" Harry asked but when Dean spun back around it was him that Harry was watching, not the older hunter and Dean felt his skin prickle uneasily. Sometimes when Harry stared at him he felt as if the younger man could see right inside his head and read all his thoughts. Dean looked away unsettled, and the conversation started up again.

Bobby shrewd, pale eyes fell on Harry, flickering thoughtfully as he gulped his coffee.

"Dean," Harry said with sudden intent and when Dean turned to him, Harry's eyes were circles of too bright, too sharp green glass that were hard against the softness of his eyelashes. "I want to come with you; to help you stop Lilith from breaking the seals, to stop Lucifer from rising."

Dean hesitated and stared at Harry, he had never hunted with someone who wasn't family or as close as and he wasn't certain about so many things about Harry; but he was their link to the angels and to his dad. "At this point we need all the help we can get, I'm not about to turn you away.

Harry's eyes didn't leave his face but his lips twisted in a crooked, mockery of a smile that Dean found himself returning. Even if neither of them were being entirely honest then they were at least acknowledging their own untruthfulness.

Bobby sighed and his forehead was full of lines of tension once again. Dean pretended not to notice when Harry reached out and pressed his hand against Bobby's forearm in a gesture of intimate comfort. Bobby reached out and grabbed Harry into a hug, tucking his chin in the dip of Harry's skinny shoulder, whispering fierce little words into the boy's hair that Dean pretended not to hear.

He wondered if his father had looked that stricken the first time he had left him behind.

-00—

Having another person hunting with them meant logistically things had to change.

Dean hadn't really thought about it when he'd agreed to Harry coming with them. He was in some ways still seeing Castiel and thought the man would disappear unless needed; except he didn't and after the first six hours Dean wondered if he would ever get used to looking into his rear view mirror and seeing Harry's big shatter glass eyes, lit up electric green by the sun and staring back at him all emotional and human.

The first night away from Bobby's was an experience as well. The hotel manager had paused and given them that 'look' when Dean had asked for two doubles and it had taken Dean a moment to remember Harry hovering hesitantly behind them, looking underage and victim-like with his too thin face and his too big eyes.

Harry had intervened and asked for a single room and the manager had asked for I.D which he hadn't been able to provide. They had had to leave hurriedly and ended up sleeping in the impala which Dean had not been happy about and had made his displeasure known before dozing into a fitful sleep.

His sleep was plagued as always by half remembered images of blood and hellfire.

Dean woke up abruptly to see Sam tapping away at his laptop on the hood of the car and Harry watching him from the back seat with dark, half mast eyes that stared at him far too knowingly.

"Is it just me you like to watch sleeping?" he asked, rubbing the sleep and hellfire from his eyes.

Harry shrugged, one sharp shoulder pressing up almost to his chin, "You were having nightmares."

Dean scowled, hating that anyone had seen him vulnerable. "Yeah, well you go to hell and we'll see how you manage."

Harry scowled right back, all traces of pity wiped away in his irritation and Dean was reminded once again this wasn't Castiel who could take his sharp comments and retorts unaffected. "That's not what I meant." The other hunter snapped at him and detangled himself from the backseat, half crawling, half rolling over into the front of the impala and nearly kicking Dean in the face in a move that Dean thought was entirely intentional.

"Sure." Dean rolled his eyes and tried to rub out the kinks from his neck, wishing they had managed to get beds last night, "Where is your I.D anyway?"

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, the green of his irises almost luminous in the golden edges of the dawn, "I never had any, or if I did they are still in England and I haven't been out of America since I was fourteen."

Dean was almost tempted to ask about that but Harry's shoulders were tense and drawn up and Dean's eyes were locked on Harry's quivering tendons that made the glitter smeared skin of his hands taunt and his fingers curl up like claws. "I'll make you some fake ones if you like."

"Yeah?" Harry's head spun a bit too fast at that and his eyes were wide and liquid looking beneath the drooping curls of his hair. His voice was soft and hesitant and Dean almost didn't catch his mumbled "thanks", before Sam was rapping loudly on the window screen.

"Guys," Sam's smile was stretching out his features and dimming the vacant look that Dean had seen almost constantly on his brother's face for the past few days. "I found us a case and you'll never guess where it is."

-00—

"So what's up with this case?" Harry asked as Sam walked towards the entrance to Truman high.

Dean shrugged, "Geek kid drowns a cheerleader."

"You're average high-school drama then."

"It's just like High School Musical but with more blood." Dean quirked and Harry mouth rolled up into a smile that was quickly becoming familiar. "Sam thinks it's a demon possession but I just think he just wants to go back to school."

"You used to go here?" Harry asked, eyebrows rising as Sam's lumbering form reappeared at the school's entrance.

"For a couple of months," Dean drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, remembering dimly the yellowing white washed halls and the cold stares of kids who thought he was trailer trash and teachers who thought he was a thug. "This school was just one on a list of many."

Harry watched him silently, his gaze thoughtful beneath the curl of eyelashes as Sam let himself back into the front seat and Dean felt as if Harry was seeing right through all his bravado and into all those memories and feelings that high school had left him with.

"So what's our cover?" Dean asked Sam quickly, trying not to focus on the shadowed, silent stare Harry was levelling at him, "F.B.I? Homeland security? Swedish foreign exchange students?"

"I have a better idea." Sam answered slowly and smiled in a way that meant he wasn't going to like this.

-00-

"You look ridiculous"

Dean pulled at the sport's whistle around his neck and blew it sharply into the man's face, enjoying Harry's wince at the sound. "Don't talk back to your teacher."

"A gym teacher isn't a real teacher anyway" Harry replied sulkily, rubbing his ear, "And why do I have to be the student? I want a whistle."

Dean grinned and waved his own whistle tauntingly. They might have been on a hunt but despite his trepidation at having Harry tagging along it had been oddly fun so far. Harry's slightly too sharp wit slipped to almost childish humour the longer they spent together, which suited Dean just fine. It was fun having someone to banter with, especially now that his brother was so distant and irritable. Sam had so far ignored them but Dean could see the muscle in his jaw twitching and Dean was just sad he kind of expected it now.

"Because we need someone who can talk easily to the other kids and you're the only one of us that looks close to seventeen." Sam replied with forced levelness, as he climbed into his borrowed janitor's uniform.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair nervously, "This is quite possibly the stupidest idea anyone has ever had. Why couldn't you just pretend to be F.B.I?"

Dean twirled his gym whistle around his finger even as Harry battered it away lazily and glanced over at Sam, because despite how fun it was to tease Harry about his youthful features he did have a point, there was no need to go to all this trouble.

Sam buttoned up his jumpsuit quickly. "It's all set up now, let's just do it."

"Besides," Dean said helpfully still twirling around his whistle. "The other kids will love the accent."

Harry just sighed again.

-00-

Dean liked playing at gym teacher.

He liked the power and the whistle and he kind of liked the kids as well, though he'd never admit to it. So despite the stupid outfit, he figured he'd gotten the better deal, and watching Sam plodding around mopping up sick, unclogging toilets and trying to find any trace of sulphur, only confirmed it.

Being a Gym teacher meant he also had a large portion of his day free or at least unsupervised and so he was able to keep an eye out for Harry. Despite his early teasing he was slightly worried for the younger man. Harry was in his late twenties and it didn't matter how youthful his face was, his eyes gave him away. Harry's green eyes were fierce, sharp and defensive; especially the more uncomfortable he got and from his expression that morning as he walked up through the front door, he was definitely uncomfortable. Dean hadn't met many teenagers with eyes like Harry's and he was worried someone would call him out.

But no one questioned Harry's age and Dean had been right they did love the accent. Dean had passed Harry's home room to see the man wide eyed and cornered by a gaggle of teenage girls, leaning provocatively all over him and demanding he say random words for them. A line of jealous young jocks watched, flitting between awe and jealousy and Dean found himself snickering all the way back to gym.

The next time Dean saw Harry again, he'd managed to ditch all his admirers and was following a tall, skinny girl who was balancing what looked like an entire library in her arms. She seemed vaguely confused by Harry's presence (as was Dean) and kept glancing at him from beneath the edges of eyelashes as he followed her silently.

Dean stared at Harry openly, recognising but not understanding the bittersweet longing that had painted itself across his features. The skin around Harry's eyes was pinched and puckered and his hands twitched at his sides as if he wanted to touch the girl but wouldn't allow himself. Dean felt as if he was intruding on Harry's privacy as he watched and only hesitated a moment longer before stepping out past them and drawing Harry's attention immediately.

Harry excused himself and caught up to Dean, all of his early emotion gone from his face as he fell into step beside him.

"I hate high-school," Harry huffed and Dean grinned down at him, trying to resist the urge to ruffle his curls.

"Aww. Are the other kids being mean to you?" Dean teased, automatically leading Harry towards the mostly deserted sports corridor; side stepping a young teacher who frowned at them judgmentally as he went past.

"No they love me," Harry replied glumly, "But the teachers think I'm an idiot."

Dean glanced down at him, "Why?"

Harry raised one sharp shoulder, his forehead crinkling in embarrassment. "I haven't been to school since I was fourteen. I don't know anything I'm meant to know."

Dean didn't reply straight-a-way, instead he found himself staring more intently at Harry; there was so much about the younger man he didn't know but somehow he forgot they were practically strangers, maybe it was because he was used to Harry's body walking around even if the man inside was new to him. Dean found himself biting his lip as he asked "isn't that when you came to the U.S?"

Harry nodded and his gaze was sharp and challenging, daring Dean to ask what had happened.

Dean didn't want to ask despite his curiosity. He knew from his own experience that some things couldn't be said just because other people wanted to talk about them and from what he had pieced together of Harry's life so far he guessed the truth was painful enough for it to actually be a big deal when he did decide to tell people. Dean didn't think Harry had even trusted Bobby with that knowledge yet. He wanted to know but more than that, he wanted for Harry to want to tell him. It was an odd desire and Dean didn't really want to think about the whys behind it.

Instead of trying to answer he just smiled, a crooked little half grin and asked Harry about the cheerleaders.

Their conversation quickly deteriorated into a series of bad insults and by the time the bell went for the next class Dean's face hurt from grinning and his forehead hurt from scowling. It was hard to tell if Harry actually meant anything he said, his wit could be cutting and Dean got the feeling Harry was just as confused and unsure about their friendship as he was.

Harry sighed and stared at the ceiling bleakly, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Are we nearly done yet? I don't think I can handle being a teenager for much longer."

"Sam said he couldn't find any E.M.F in the school," Dean shrugged, "Whatever happened here I don't think it was supernatural. We should be out of here by tomorrow; then we can focus on more important things."

Harry brightened a bit at that and turned to leave looking a bit lighter. He paused at the entrance to the corridor and frowned in confusion for a minute. "Oh by the way what is a homecoming? Who's coming home? And why do people want to me to be there?"

-00—

When Sam found him, his brother had blood coating his hands and sprayed down the front of his borrowed overalls. Harry slid out into to corridor seconds behind Sam, looking icily calm and hard eyed in contrast to Sam's shocked, darting expression but for the first time since Bobby's, Dean barely noticed him.

Familiar panic at seeing Sam and blood washed through him and Dean jerked forward, searching his brother for any obvious wounds. "Sammy?" he demanded

"It's not mine." Sam whispered as Dean stepped up, running his hands through the blood, feeling relief at the undamaged fabric of Sam's clothing. "Kid stuffed some jock's hand into a blender."

"It was a possession," Harry interrupted, causing both brothers to stare at him. "There was ectoplasm."

"So, we got a ghost in the building?" Dean asked.

"No E.M.F in the school," Sam frowned in confusion and Dean could literally see the wheels moving and spinning behind his eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in a sign of momentary defeat, "But maybe we can see if somebody died bloody around here or something?"

"No, not in the school," Harry interrupted, still as cold as ice and his untouched expression was enough to make Dean more than a little creeped out, he hadn't imagined Harry to be so apathetic. "The possessed boy just now and the girl that drowned the cheerleader they take the same bus and the bus just got a new driver." Harry continued calmly.

"How do you know that?" Sam asked with a frown and Dean glanced between them torn between worry for his brother and curiosity at Harry's answer.

"Gossip; you wouldn't believe how quick the kids made that connection." Harry said with a grimace. "Actually they're placing bets on which kid will snap next; they think it's some sort of 'revenge of the nerds'."

"Ghost possession," Sam rubbed his bloody hands against his legs, wincing in disgust, "It's pretty rare but if a ghost gets angry enough they can take control of a person's body. There's lore about spirits possessing people and riding them for miles, then whenever they leave the body, they're bungeed back to their usual haunt. But until then, the ghosts can go wherever they want. "

"So spook grabs a kid on the bus and walks right into Truman? Great ghosts' getting creative." Dean ran a hand across the back on his neck, rubbing at the sudden tension in his muscles.

"Do you know who the bus driver is?" Sam asked Harry and this time his voice was steady and he'd managed to wipe all traces of the blood off his face, smearing it instead along the lines of his overalls. Dean glanced at him with a wince.

"Some old guy called McGergor." Harry shrugged and would have continued but Sam had gone so tense that he seemed to suck up all the air in the hallway.

"McGregor." Sam repeated hollowly "I knew his son; Dirk McGregor."

"The kid that used to bully you?" Dean asked; the memory of his anger at someone hurting his brother coming quicker and sharper than anything else he remembered about the school. Sam nodded, still thrumming with tension, his brows drawn into a low pensive line.

Harry glanced over at Sam and tilted his head back to be able to see Sam's face properly, his eyes racking over Sam's muscular arms and his massive hands "You got bullied?" Harry asked slowly with something like suspicious disbelief and Dean felt a smile tugging hard at the corners of his lips.

Sam gave Harry twisted, half amused smile. "I didn't get my growth spurt till I was fifteen."

"It's alright Sam," Harry said, the red coloured smear of his mouth shaping something that looked suspiciously like a pout, "I'm still waiting for mine."

-00—

Dean and Sam went to see Dirk's father, leaving Harry to the non-violence assembly that had abruptly been called.

Harry had sighed and had been dragged off by a couple of very pretty cheerleaders looking for all purposes as if he was going to gallows rather than to sit squeezed between two beautiful young women. Even Sam had spared a laugh at Harry's misery and they had cracked jokes at his expense the entire journey to the McGergor house, where they hoped to speak to Dirk's father. It was almost like old times, the odd, resentful distance between them disappearing and Sam felt more like his brother than he had in a long time.

It didn't last for long.

It turned out Dirk had had it rough; a dead mother, an absentee father and not a lot of money and suddenly he wasn't the bully that Sam had faced to protect his friend but an angry, hurting kid that reminded Sam too much of himself. Except Dirk hadn't gotten past it and had killed himself. The more they heard, the more Dean wished Sam hadn't come; still wanting to protect his brother, stupid and unrealistic as it sounded.

By the time they left, all traces of the happy brother Dean knew had gone, replaced with the brooding, angry man whom Sam was becoming and Dean had to be content to listen to the angry little huffs of breath that Sam released against the window of the impala, watching darkly at the condensation if left on the glass.

"Sam..." Dean started and Sam snapped upright, his eyes black and shadowed.

"He was just as scared and miserable as everyone else and I made it worse." Sam hunched in on himself turning his back to Dean, his shoulders a solid wall between them and any comfort Dean could have offered.

Dean sighed and gripped the wheel tighter and remained silent until they arrived back at Truman high school.

The sun had rolled over the edge of the horizon and the only light was the yellow bulbs of the streetlights that flickered sickly, illuminating the empty steps and the figure that was sat waiting for them. Harry was crouched down, looking tiny against the looming backdrop of white and off coloured red painted walls, his limbs tucked in close against his sides and his eyes narrowed into slits of electric green.

It took Dean a moment to realise the younger man wasn't glaring at them but at the shadowy figure that was hovering behind him. For one sick, frozen moment Dean thought it was Dirk but the streetlights wavered, the spill of light expanding and the pale waxen features of some teacher whose name he couldn't remember swam into view; the man's eyes dark behind his glasses.

Harry twisted as the man reached out for him, moving in one slinky dangerous movement that spun him around and sent him to his feet so he was standing on the steps facing the teacher, his back to the impala and Dean. The man said something that Dean couldn't hear but the way he reached out for Harry, his fingers stroking the boy's cheek and his eyes bright and greedy said more than enough.

Dean felt an unfamiliar sick feeling settle into his stomach. Harry didn't move against the teacher's advances and Dean couldn't see his face to gauge his reaction as the teacher swayed forward; his other hand resting possessively on Harry's thin narrow shoulder, his thumb stroking the delicate line of Harry's collar bone. Harry glanced sideways at the man's thumb, watching the movement, his eyes unreadable.

"Dean." Sam glanced over at him his own emotions mirrored on his brother's face. "Shall we...?"

Dean turned back to Harry, his hand already reaching out for the door but the teacher suddenly recoiled away from Harry, stumbling backwards and tripping on his own feet and falling ungracefully into a heap at Harry's feet.

The younger hunter crouched down in one liquid, cat like movement, his face still hidden as he whispered words at the teacher. But it didn't matter because Dean could see the shock and fear that bled across the waxen features of the man's face. Harry whispered, angry dangerous little mutterings at the man and seemed to grow and loom with every second, pressing the man against the stone steps with a hand that Dean could have sworn glowed oddly bright despite the darkness, glittering gold and sparks.

Then it was over and Harry was back on his feet and walking away from the man in angry jerking strides that still seemed more natural and loose limbed than anything Castiel had managed. He stopped at Dean's window and his face was golden and his eyes unnaturally bright and sharp with anger.

"You okay?"

"Just peachy." Harry growled lowly and yanked open the impala, throwing himself into the car and sitting jack-knifed as Dean pulled away from the school.

Dean glanced in mirror and studied Harry with something that verged on apprehension, the hairs on his neck prickling as he ran his eyes over the boy's claw like hands and the thrumming tension in his limbs and he wondered how Harry, who always seemed so small and breakable, could suddenly become so intimidating. Despite Harry furious expression, Dean couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked; his pale, paper thin skin was luminous as if he had somehow captured the sun under his flesh and his eyes were shockingly bright beneath the swaying curls of his hair, electric green that Dean could have sworn were full of bolts of lightning.

"Well?" Harry asked finally, the storm clearing from his face.

"It's the bus driver's son; the boy was cremated but there's a lock of hair that the driver kept for sentimental reasons." Dean answered finally, his eyes still darting to the mirror to study the other hunter.

Harry sucked in his bottom lip thoughtfully and when he released it, the mouth was bright candy red and curling softly against the shock of his flushed, golden skin. "And let me guess, the hair's on the bus?"

"Got it in one." Dean answered and Sam's exhalation beside him was tight with emotion and memories.

-00—

"Do you have everything in that boot?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows as Dean unrolled their homemade traffic spikes along the road.

"Boot," Dean scoffed mimicking Harry's accent and peered into the darkness for any signs of the oncoming school bus. The headlights of the bus wavered on the horizon and the familiar feeling of adrenaline hit him as he skidded back to their hiding place, his breath coming in short, low pants as he waited, crouched and coiled up in preparation.

The bus hit the spikes and the tyres burst open in four violent screeches, the bus skidding to a shuddering halt before them. Sam, with his longer legs and powered by his guilt and anger got to bus first, just as the driver emerged into the dark road. He cocked his gun and called out Dirk's name and the driver spun to stare at them, his nose bleeding ectoplasm and his eyes shadowed and dim with possession.

"Winchester." The possessed man hissed, "What you gonna do, shoot me?"

Dean threw the salted roped around the man and watched him struggle futilely against the bonds for a second before joining Harry as he scrambled abroad, much to the shocked, wide eyed expressions of the jocks.

"Hey aren't you that new student?" one of the youth was asking Harry, as Dean appeared next to him. Harry turned his back to the kids and rolled his eyes in exasperation, leaving Dean to smile crookedly at the students.

"Not really, we're like 21 Jump street."Dean grinned and gestured to Harry who was rooting frantically through the Bus driver's meagre possessions. Dean glanced at his narrow back and turned back to kids, "The bus driver sells pot. Yeah..."

"Dean," Harry said lowly, appearing at Dean's shoulder and curling a hand around his upper arm, drawing him away to the front of the bus and the scattered mess of bible pages and licenses that now littered the driver's seat.

"Dean, Harry?" Sam called; his voice raw.

"It's not here." Harry hissed, gesturing and for one long minute, they just stared at each other blankly, in the lull of the jocks' murmuring. Harry's eyes were bright, luminous green against the darkness of his hair and the pressure of the night around them; the only colour in the entire bus and for a moment they were open and vulnerable without the glassy, cold walls the younger hunter usually hid behind.

"The bus driver," Dean interrupted the silence suddenly, scrambling past Harry and outside, just in time to see Dirk breaking through the salted ropes and Sam shooting at him, expelling the ghost in one angry black wave out of the driver's body.

Dean and Sam froze as the driver slumped unconscious to the ground and waited for Dirk to make the next move.

"Shit!"

Harry's voice cut through the silence and seconds later he was flying backwards past them from the bus's entrance and skidding down onto the road with a grunt of pain that ended up choked and wet sounding. Dean and Sam moved as one to help as the massive shadow of empty eyed student that plodded down the bus's steps towards them, his lips curling into a grimace of anger.

"Winchester."

Dirk's newly possessed body moved faster than either of them expected and Dean's shot went wide, allowing the ghost to leap at Sam, using his greater weight to throw his brother to ground. The student's meaty fists clawed and pummelling Sam mercilessly.

"Get the hair!" Sam cried, from beneath Dirk, trying to fight off the jock's attacks.

Dean winced at the cracking sound that came as another of Dirk's hit landed but skidded onto his knees alongside the still unconscious body of the driver, running his hands frantically along the inside of the man's jacket searching for pockets that could hide Dirk's lock of hair.

"Sorry dude this isn't what it looks like" he muttered at the driver gave a groggy noise of protest. The pockets were empty of hair and Dean had just moved onto to skimming the man's legs when Harry darted past him, his face white and already blossoming with fresh bruises that grew like spilled ink, spreading across his forehead in hues of purple.

The younger hunter ran towards the two grappling men and spun on heel, using the momentum to swing up his opposing leg and slam his foot into the possessed jock, knocking him clear off Sam despite his size. For a second Dean was frozen in shock, staring disbelieving as the mass of fat and muscle flew sideways, propelled by Harry who looked tiny and painfully thin as he leant to help Sam upright.

For a second, Harry's skin seemed to sparkle glitter gold again but Dean didn't glance at him and instead yanked off the driver's boot, grinning darkly at the tied lock of hair tumbled into his hand. "Everything in the boot," he muttered to himself, oddly amused.

The lumbering jock staggered upright, leaning heavily on the bus behind him but before he could say anything Dean set the hair alight and the ghost exploded in fire and black air and the youth tumbled forward unconscious before them with an echoing thump.

"Thanks." Sam murmured and his gaze rested, despite his swelling eye on Harry who's skin had lost the odd golden luminous quality Dean thought he'd seen.

Harry's eyes slanted away from Sam, to stare at Dean. The bright emerald shocking beneath the dark, feathery lines of his eyelashes and his mouth was red and wide as he grinned up at Dean. There was only the harsh sounds of their breathing and Harry's sparkling eyes and Dean felt himself relax properly for the first time since the case had begun and smiled back, warmth uncurling in his belly.

—00—

Dean didn't knock before entering Harry's motel room. It was stupid he supposed but years of living only with family had made him forget common courtesy and he entered the single room to Harry's cut off surprised curses.

Harry was sprawled on his stomach across his bed, papers and books spewed around him. He was back in Dean's too large, low slung jeans and a t-shirt that slipped off his shoulder as he pushed himself upright to stare at the Dean and Dean felt his eyebrow quirk at the sight of him.

Harry glanced at him with a frown and he moved in one fluid, boneless movement, rolling upright until he was sitting cross-legged and scowling, circled by paper and books and scribbled on notepads. "No please just come right in."

Dean shot him a quick, sharp edged smile and kicked the door closed with his foot. "I just wanted to ask if you wanted Chinese, we're ordering."

"Oh. Em." Harry floundered for a minute and didn't notice as Dean moved closer tilting his head to glance over at the research spread out around him.

Dean felt his shoulders tense and grabbed a sheet of paper skimming the paper. Michael and Lucifer and vessels popped out at him and he frowned in realisation. "You're researching angels?" he said suddenly and Harry shot forward snatching the paper out of his hands and rocking back onto his heels in one dangerous, defensive movement, his eyes dark but wide and apprehensive as if he'd just been caught doing something he wasn't meant to.

Dean hesitated, licking his lips thoughtfully and some the unanswered questions about why Harry was with them. "You didn't come with us to help with Lilith, you came to find Castiel."

Harry rocked back further, clutching the paper to his chest like a life line. "The angels are here because of you and Sam, if he comes back it will be to you, then I can speak to him, help him."

"Oh." Dean said dumbly and was surprised by the odd tight sensation of hurt that Harry's words sparked. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"I didn't think you'd let me come," Harry answered quietly.

Dean paused and pressed his lips together, feeling the blood drain away from them. "I want to help him, he's my friend too you know."

"Sorry Dean." Harry shuffled forward again, his limbs losing some of that nervous energy and relaxing a little. He paused and looked away from Dean. "I don't trust people easily, it just seemed better to play everything close to the vest."

"He mean that much to you then?" Dean asked finally and Harry's gaze darted back up to him, the green of his irises a thin ring that bled into dark, longing pupils.

"He was all I knew for three years. He knew my every thought and feeling and memory and I knew him. I shared everything with him, all the good things and all the bad things, things I couldn't speak aloud. He was more than my friend, there is nothing close to that level of intimacy; it's not natural." Harry paused and turned his gaze away, his cheeks flushing and his eyes flickering half shut, lost in memories and regret. "Now, I just feel empty."

Dean felt his finger twitch as his sides and he moved awkwardly and rested his hand on Harry's shoulder, feeling the bird bones of the man's back move and flex as he turned to stare up at Dean. Harry's face was pale and painfully open; his eyes too wide and childlike in his thin face. "It's my fault he's gone, they took him away because I asked him to help John. I have to get him back, I have to help him."

"We'll get him back." Dean murmured and a shudder ran through the length of Harry's body leaving his quaking beneath Dean's hands. "I promise, we'll help him, together. But you don't need to keep things from us."

Harry nodded up at him but his mouth was tight and his lips pressed bloodlessly together and Dean wondered what other secrets he was keeping from them and if the next ones were going to be so easy to accept.

* * *

_Thank you very much for the splurge of reviews for the last chapter, it is truly gratifying to hear that people are reading and enjoying. Please keep the reviews coming, questions will be answered if asked. I'm actually not sure what a homecoming entails so that is much my question as Harry and I think education in America is mandatory till eighteen but if it's not please excuse any mistakes.  
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_**next chapter: Sex and violence-Sirens apparently have odd effects on Wizards, more secrets are revealed and Castiel returns.**  
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